Mango
I caught his eye over the banquet table,
Over the scent of curry spice
that conducted our thoughts through the chattering air.
He raised his glass to his lips
and drank the thick sweet mango drink
like I drank the bitter pulp of our enmity,
choking on the pieces of his unspoken words.
Then he raised his white napkin to his lips,
raised it for a moment in my direction,
and it swayed there in the breeze of voices like a flag.
He offered me my victory.
I offered him paratha bread.
Without a word
we signed our pact in curry sauce;
Without a smile
I raised my glass to my lips
and caught his eye as I took a sip of orange drink.
Victory tasted like mango that night.
©1999 Elizabeth Hebert
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