~MIRIAM N. KOTZIN~

REMISSION

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I hold the mango in my palm.
I push the knife through the skin,
incise, knife point tracing oval seed.

I remember the summer we ate
cold soup of ripe mango
raw sweet corn and jalepenos.

The knife might slip, for
my fingers are slick with
the juice of ripe mango.

I hold the last mango in my palm;
it is the weight of one breast.
That summer we ate cold soup.

 

© by Miriam N. Kotzin