My Neighbor’s Mango Tree

The sun sits in a half-slumber

Tucked-in tightly at a more than decent hour behind

Cumulus and cumulonimbus pillows

That, to the mortal eye, are softer than any Egyptian cotton sheets

That any department store can try to sell you.

There is so much beauty here.

There is so much vibrancy in the skies above.

I can feel the life in my veins.

The neighbors cut down mangos in their yard

And I wave and watch with a smile as the angelic rustling

Of leaves between each branch cut and each mango dropping

To the earth with a thud reminds me of my incredible late grandmother

Who would gather that same sweet fruit in for me in my toddler years—

How sweet, how sweet, how sweet, how sweet!

But the sap would always get on me, and she would have a laugh

At the itchy rash I would get as a result of my eagerness to enjoy

The mango’s sweetness.

A love as sugary, and as sweet, and as beautiful,

and as timeless as the tropical fruit that so

Effortlessly and easily crashes to the ground right before my eyes

With a gorgeously nostalgic padded bang.

The neighbors harvest that sweet bounty.

There is so much beauty here.

There is so much vibrance in the world in front of me.

I can feel the life and the love in my veins.