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
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.