Manifestation of Mangoes & Other Poems

Lysz Flo

Manifestation of Mangoes

despite my wishing to bang the mango to a pulp
bite off its skin,
suck from the top,
I cut these mangoes up – for you 

We don’t discriminate the mango type
We eat them with our bare fingers,
teeth and lips bracing each fleshy morsel

I was waiting on you to eat this mango even though you took too long, so I shave off a piece of this gold
& yellow,
fill our home with a dance, juice glistening on melanin,
seductive in glossiness
The village ritualistic in jamboree
our accents spilling like liquid
calling on all of their different names
so ingrained – we overlook – how we trace it back to Homelands

Enveloped in the spontaneity of stealing mangoes from transplant neighbours who let them decay – uneaten – unloved
juxtaposes Us – obsessing & communally eating mangoes

I saved the seed – for you
sometimes it is vicious – a way of eating mango
still I prefer the closeness of home/together/ in a safe space
a mess of love & declarations & mangoes 

i calculate love in mango seasons
wonder how long & how many mangoes have trailed us this far
my last lover taught me that being devoid of
desperation – made for seasons of sorrow
I prefer anxiously waiting for mango season to come – anticipating in unison

I remember I manifested mangoes and what I really manifested
was love and joy
and nurturing and surprise
friendship renewals
the intimacy of eating mangoes together
there is a peel, cut, bite of mangoes exchanged
this is an I love you & thank you
A heaping of blessings of mangoes in different sizes, some too ripe, some ripe enough, some we just have to wait for
between hurricanes & summer sun
humidity in bags & bags of mangoes from different trees each one a wish come true

                        only

I have waited               to get silence
I have waited               to be forgotten
I have waited               to not be contacted again
I have waited               to see what happens
I have waited               to bloom and the bud never opened
I have waited               to never meet
I have waited               to remain celibate
I have waited               & still woken up alone
I have waited               to open myself to hope
I have waited               & was devoured by passion gone stale
I have waited               to be loved
                     how           does one feel adventure
                                     when love feels like war
                                can I keep being asked to bloom
yet I am a garden – asking to be watered

Lanmou’s Incantation

On the new moon
I buy bouquets
in pink, orange, yellow, & red blooms
and place myself on the altar
spellbinding on replay
to call in my beloved

I bathe in honey and almond milk
crush rose petals over my chest, a heart
doused in leaves of bay
cut chords of depleting ilk
back from all the places they resided 
forgotten to be welcomed in threads of silk
oil essences drop between moon water and melanin time abided 

I burn cedar
while playing a healing tune
heart hungers for a feeder
may waters for my boon

Drizzle honey 
on this love grid 
built with
Rose Quartz, Malachite, and
Green Strawberry Spheres.
sweeten us

Add in mookaite chunks
& paprika for passion 

A dash of cayenne for desire
plentifully ignited
petals of fragrant jasmine for fulfilled yearning
aloe for the nourishment and wellness of our spirits 

Call myself well & overflow
All that is wrong becomes righted

May we be a bountiful harvest

on his lips i ask to
luxuriate in mutual gentleness

& hope my lover will pine for me
as I, them

from the wear and tear 

of disappointment
of being in this world
of trying to no avail
                         make me
a sticky safe space
a universe

may we burn
as the earth prepared for crops do
may the intensity 
be seen from cities far away
an earth so rich & black 
only growth
is an option 

Align our heart chakras
so he too is open to receive and replenish
fresh roots planted for this love to grow