Mangoes

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Sowmya Somaraju

 

For my grandmother

 

The house came into view. 

The house with a sandstone-colored roof, and a rusting gate.

In the backyard, 

drops of sunshine hanging from bending branches. 

 

Everything was the same: 

the couch cushions, 

the dull-colored linens on the bed. 

And in the bathroom, 

one single bar of soap.

Everything was the same, 

except for one thing.

 

I didn’t see the fall of her saree nor her long salt and peppery hair. 

It seemed as though the silence in that house 

missed her loud voice too. 

A voice everyone feared

except me. 

Her hands that told the story of her life. 

How she plucked the mangoes 

And held them in the fall of her saree,

to give me. 

 

That summer, the sun shined brightly, 

and the mangoes even brighter. 

The big tree, tired and groaning, 

ready to let go.

The shades of red and yellow danced to a song of silence,

drops of milky tears, 

forgotten to be plucked. 

 

 *saree- a garment consisting of a length of cotton or silk elaborately draped around the body, traditionally worn by women from South Asia.

 

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Sowmya Somaraju is a biological sciences major on a pre-med track with a psychology minor, graduating in 2026. She writes, “I’m originally from India but currently live in Montgomery, New Jersey. I have always loved writing, but the poetry workshops in Professor November’s Creative Writing class really showed me how much freedom poetry provides and how it is possible to write a truly powerful poem without complex words or ideas because, sometimes, the simplest stories can lead to the most meaningful pieces.”