Poetry

Ode (Ending with a Confession) to the First Mango I Ate on Guam After Decades Away

by Craig Santos Perez

All the mangoes I’ve tasted
in California were imported and
lost their true flavors in transit.
And, even though all the mangoes
I’ve enjoyed in Hawai’i were home
grown and ripened by island
sun, they often act too glamorous,
with their own annual festival
at a five-star hotel, where local chefs
and mixologists dress them
in fancy pupus and cocktails.
But you, my love, are modest.
My godfather picked you from
his farm, and my godmother placed
you on a plate for my breakfast.
I’m alone this humid morning,
so I fondle your skin, supple
and cool in the air-conditioned
dining room. I slowly undress
you, nibbling your tropical flesh
until I reach the spot where all
your fibers tremble. When I look
up, I notice a large statue of
the Virgin Mary, staring at me,
my fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue
sticky with the juice of our sin.

Craig Santos Perez is an indigenous Chamorro poet from the Pacific island of Guam. He is the author of four collections of poetry and the co-editor of five anthologies. He is an associate professor in the English department at the University of Hawaiʻi, Mānoa. WLT nominated his poem in the New Native Writing issue (May 2017) for a Pushcart Prize.

Buy PRINT Issue Subscribe TO WLT