As it always has,
temptation came from the lure of the fruit
and the urge of the Serpent.
The market vendor with rough hands
and the placid face of a farmer
stood amidst the crush and hum of late summer tourists
slowly sliced a juicy mango
turned the knife blade on its side
and offered the smooth seductive yellow flesh
to any who would try.
It is not a woman’s fate to be satisfied
with abundance –
modern day descendants of Eve, we cannot resist
our hunger for knowledge
the one hunger that has been our eternal downfall
we want the fruit from the one off-limits tree
smack dab in the middle of the Garden of Delight
we want the one thing we cannot have
we want the wisdom of the ages
the wisp of the Divine
to see what our hearts cannot hold
to taste what our bellies cannot fill
to hear what our sighs cannot sing
to touch what our longings cannot feel
to know what our fathers and brothers and sons and lovers do not know
and so we ask, over and over again,
for them to tell us.
I pull one more fruit,
ask one more question,
accept the slice of perfectly ripe mango
succulent as your full lower lip
feet its juices drip down my chin
lick sticky fingers
awaken to yearning stowed away.
With one mouthful
of the smooth and slippery fruit
I feel hunger arising
I want the next slice
and the next
I quiver as I grasp for my wallet
exposed and stripped naked by desire
I tremble in the exile of knowing.
I buy a fresh mango
to bring home
to you.
Tell me,
what does it taste like?