Born. Living. Will. Die.

Sometimes I think I’m never going to write a poem

again

and then there’s a full moon.

I miss being in love but I miss

myself most when I’m gone.

In the salty wet air of my ancestry

my auntie peels a mango with her teeth

and I’m no longer

writing political poems; because there are

mangoes and my favorite memory is still alive.

I’m digging for meaning but haunted by purpose

and it’s an insufficient approach.

What’s the margin of loss on words not spent today?

I’m getting older. I’m buying smaller images to travel light.

I wake up, I light up, I tidy, and it’s all over now.

–

This poem is an ode to my auntie, who is the freest person I know. In her garden in Antigua, she grows mangoes, which represent the sweetness of life and the serenity of self-sufficiency.

Copyright © 2021 by Camonghne Felix. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 7, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.