dirt pathways hug mango trees 

with golden gifts for tired workers, 

children play with bottlecaps 

unaware of faraway machines 

that break cirrus clouds open, 

the evening carries carnivorous songs 

masking remorse in the melody; 

 

terrible glances do terrible dances, 

and it’s decided im ripe for the taking. 

swollen like mangoes spit onto sidewalks 

by their very own branches, 

the scent attracts fruit flies and stray dogs, 

a shape exactly like the emptiness 

creaking in their stomachs; 

 

lips smack and tongues twist, 

food taken in by unwashed hands 

(the same ones used for praying), 

nails itch at the tender fruit, 

peeling the nakedness open in slivers, 

a thick nectar like a potent river  

spills over like a yellow curse; 

 

crooked teeth indulge themselves 

a seed tossed aside like nothing — 

what’s that? a sweet juice with a sad taste, 

devoured in haste, the same way 

men are eager to forget  

washing up upon our shores. 

 

time passes idly through me 

but seasons take their toll 

they do not go without carving 

rings concealed in my bark hips 

the clouds grew tired from protecting us 

but green grass still grows  

between gray sheets taking over the dirt 

 

monsoons have drowned the bottle caps 

kicked by men on the road 

who used to go to war over them 

who used to press upon the bruises 

of the fleshy fruit for fun 

filthy ancient greetings 

in exchange for epiphany: 

 

a past unlearned is a past repeated, 

and with this foregone quest i cannot rest. 

 

i am the seed you cast aside like nothing 

when i nourished you, but whole - i am the roots 

and fleshy fruits, the ones that were and are and  

are to come, i am the stems, the branches, 

the histories and possibilities, 

the foliage for scavengers, 

a shelter for castaways, 

a haven for runaways, 

fornicators, truth-tellers, 

witches and nuns, 

the fuel for the fire, 

the provider of shade, 

collector of moments, 

the fragment of nests, 

the one who gives,  

the one who takes, 

i am the muse  

and the creator. 

mango trees, 

for whom? 

for nobody 

at all.  

Paola is a final year International Relations and International Law student at the University of Edinburgh. She is originally from Venezuela and, although she is pursuing a legal career, writes poetry, creates art, and sings songs for others (but mostly, for herself).