Litchis

Litchis

by SHAMIT BAGCHI

The outer peal,

The crimson ribbed texture,

I pluck it with my underdeveloped nails.

The innards - semen-colored.

Sweet, nectar filled,

Juices flowing around the lips, dripping,

A stain it leaves on my shirt;

And on my jaws and cheeks.

My tongue chokes,

In the sweetness of the fleshy core.

Its hollow, vivid to the taste.

I let it linger - on the tongue

Eyes closed I taste it with a vengeance.

Then I bite - soft, succulent

Squirting, it overflows in the recesses

Of the confinement of my mouth.

Melting, vanishing in a moment,

Leaves a trail of viscous nectar as it

Goes down my throat; getting steadily dilute.

With my hand I extricate the seed and

Throw it up yonder, above the betel-nut trees

As I see it fly I turn around and

Then I pounce on another one from the bunch;

My father had bought from the market.

Then I was a child, hot summers

At my grandpa’s place – I’ll remember always:

The burning sun on the roof

And litchis for company.

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