mango
still green, i fall from dark undersides of leaves,
take to light in the early Bali sun. my skin turns
yellow, more orange with the day’s procession,
as my flesh lies softening on pisang leaves, grows sulky on a bed
of white rice under a few orchids wilting–
their petals shrinking by mid-day,
their shades of red deepening into overripe plum.
i ride atop a woman’s head over edges
of flooded sawah fields, toward the foot of Agoeng mountain.
the air breezes salty through Besakih’s temples, where i remain
for Shiva.
at dusk their goddess goes silent, retreats
into me and sheds my amniotic flesh for them–
so they can plant her, tonight.
