from a working poetry collection titled ‘My Family’

My Family’s Fruit Tree looks something like this.
One mango.
Two oranges.
A branch heavy with guava, lychee, starfruit, longan.
Fruits that I may only touch if I accept an unspoken contract.
It’s written in the flesh and pith,
of the fruits I now carry.
No matter the dimension –
the inescapable guilt that whispers
“Just one fruit for your time”
“An hour,”
“A day,”
“A lifetime,”
Of filial piety.
Just one fruit.