Mala Tries Her First Ever Plum (for Calcutta)

A poem.

Her mother tongue fails her
in this moment – she has no words for
what she holds in her hand.
It's like watching someone study rounded, purpled
light. I give her a piece and she licks
at the edge where skin releases flesh,
squints at the tartness, pauses
and I hold
an image of my father
laying out a plate of pitted and sliced
plums during their
fleeting season – a small,
tender gesture with small, tender fruit.

Her pause gives way to a bite
which gives way to a rush
of a smile as she finds
sweetness. And for a moment –
as Mala declares I would eat these
every day if I could –
this hot throbbing day in this hot
throbbing city expands until
I can almost believe it holds home.

Share this story:

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK