poetry: 2

the smell of dried fish is a pungent and undeniable land-mark– 
hold your breath, keep walking straight and you might find fruit.

unripe and stringy mangos,

a small pineapple,

face-pinching-sour yellow passion fruits.

but today there is no fruit,

tonight i will dream of pink lady apples
and white peaches.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s