Читать книгу Winnower - Aaron Brown - Страница 9

We held the mangos in our hands,

the skin ripe and firm, and sliced

until we had a plateful of gold.

We puffed out our bellies as if pregnant

and laughed, talking politics and soccer

over glasses of mango juice.

Outside, rainy season winds skittered

twigs and hadjlij seeds across the earth,

a thickened cloud hovered like soot

over the horizon, threatening to spill its

entrails upon the leaves outside my door.

The yard would erode, the bricks disintegrate

in a wash of sand and rain—a deluge

that could not drown the whir of the blender,

the scoop of spoons in the sugar jar.