The endless repertoire of human memories held within nerve cells fire up a response in the event of a stimulus - like the familiar face of a loved one, or the smell of summer mangoes. 

Where do brown girls go when they leave home?

When they leave their mas, pas and 

Beautifully wrinkle-skinned, 

Golden-bangled grandmas. 


Maybe in search of mangoes 

the colour of madras sunsets,

Mangoes only grandmothers knew were ready and ripe 

fanfared in peak summers

that hung by our wooden doors

Mangoes forever bitten by ugly-toothed squirrels

Mangoes fallen like angels finding pockmarks against mud 

Mangoes little people climbed trees for, as tiny knees found blood


Maybe in search of the taste of

Mangoes my tongue will seldom find again, 

Mangoes that turned pink by sandy shores

Mangoes that have undone me,  

Mangoes a whole tropical nation surpluses on 

Mangoes I’m stuck with, tooth half sunk

Mind half-hung, digging west of west earth

Mangoes, the midwest could never birth.