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Maybe Eat a Mango

 Maybe Eat a Mango The face is glum, the day is ho-hum, When the blues come a-visiting, And the heart feels heavy, When your footsteps are slow, And your mood is low, Maybe eat a mango. Nose sniffing the ripe fragrance, Senses awakening to yellow radiance, As water pours over the mango, A small corner of the soul a-washes, The knife carves out goodness, As it cuts into the mango’s tenderness, With wafts of sweet delight swirling the air. You bite into sunshine, gold, Your heart assumes the softness of the mango, Your face melts just a little, Your eyes unfreeze a smidge, The mango’s glorious taste consumes it all, The blues, the mood, the ho-hum Maybe eating a mango turned the day around.
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I am the Brown and Glass Cupboard

 



I've stood in the corner of this room for what feels like an eternity now. I used to be in a much darker room before I got moved here. It's higher too, this new perch that's now old. I don't know if I'm older, how can one tell? I still have the same wood structure I had before. I feel as sturdy as I did before. Nothing has given way in my body. I have more dust on me now but I attribute that to the burgeoning, noisy city that breathes smog to chug along. Oh wait, maybe there is a way to tell how old I am. The stickers on me that the children put as young adolescents are dicoloured and peeling. Yes, if they've gotten older, then I've gotten older too.

From my corner of the room, I can see my person, grown older; the adolescents now middle-aged; and, a younger crop - new life- walk around me busily everyday. I hold space for all of them - for their life lived in clothes, towels, bedsheets and memories.

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