Colors and Taste

color of oranges 
on my nails
strawberry on lips
I long for mangoes
from a childhood tongue

frozen mango pulp
is heavenly
till I think 
what the fruit undergoes
being beaten to pulp
kept in sub-zero temperatures
to serve another
in cold, unfamiliar climes

(Yesterday, he said
At your age 
You should only think
about teaching 
Power corridors
are forever lost)

The mango pulp
Is a little like me
crushed, processed
freshness lost
past spring and summer
meant to serve others

It perhaps laments loss 
of its life in orchards
under the golden sun
listening to kids’ laughter
watching their stained lips

Those stains are so unlike
the oranges on my nails
strawberries on my lip
I pay respect to the mango
make a warm pudding
sweetness and fragrance
pervading my senses

both of us dwell in the past
write stories 
which will never be read
it’s not really sad
just that 
We are past our prime
mature, accepting of fate
not mad… 

https://dversepoets.com/2021/09/21/poetics-always-in-season/