SummerfruitWhen you courted everyone to hide and seek
I already knew. We were more than young
for the game of not wanting to be found.
Yours was a hurried way of counting summers
as I hesitated behind you,
behind the others,
behind the slam of a backdoor
that held back all giggling in its closets,
behind the true direction of my steps,
behind the mango tree where,
behind the intent of a cigarette,
I waited to show you how
the fruit is most savored
without plates,
without spoons,
without serviettes,
without walls,
without words,
without insistence …
It was a sky of fruits resolving their own suspense.
And you came.
