4 Poems by Gage McAfee
Mango
I was always such a picky eater as a child, the mere thought of trying new foods would make me so nervous and scared that I would cry sometimes. Having to go to the hospital because I was so malnourished from eating dozens of packs of instant noodles and hot chips throughout the week over the span of years.
He told me that his favorite fruit are mangos and I have to respond with so much shame and guilt for never having participated in something that he holds so dear. He washed the shame from my body and we sat in the shade as he peeled a mango in front of me. He pulls the most beautiful piece of fruit I've ever witnessed and holds it out for me to take. Every single fear leaves my body in that moment and I am truly happy.
I am clean, he doesnt see a bad kid who was being fussy because he wanted chicken nuggets instead of fish. The gentleness that he shows me is what I have craved my whole life. I never knew how sweet life or mangos could be.
Orange
I tried my first orange when I was 20 years old, I picked it fresh off a tree and tore in to the delicate fruit and almost destroyed every piece I laid my hands on. I was never taught how to, my mom never sat me down and showed me how to be gentle, so I left claw marks in every sweet thing unfortunate enough to meet me.
Years later and I still love oranges but I don't quite have the dexterity to peel them carefully. My fingers are still too big and fumble the small delicate flesh of the fruit.
I sit cooking dinner for my boyfriend and I asked if you would like an orange—he says yes but only if he gets to peel it and feed it to me. His touch is so gentle and delicate, his fingers so thin that they slip in between the skin and the flesh of the fruit with ease. He is so gentle that it's less like he's peeling it and more like he's undressing the small orange globe. It's effortless for him.
I don't know why I'm surprised, his delicate touch is what made me love him, the first time I went to his house, held my hands tenderly in his, and he drew my likeness. He sat in silence and studied every fold and wrinkle in my hands. I was so delicate in his, fingers slipping between mine as he studied and drew, they peeled back my layers and I became soft and malleable in his presence. Tears flew from my face like juice from the orange.
Apple
Instead of a wedding rings we opted to buy an apple tree and planted it on a hill in my childhood town. That was 45 years ago today and the apples are still as sweet as they were the first time we came upon that hill and saw them fruiting. I still remember the wonder in your eyes when you saw those little red globes. I remember taking one home and cutting a slice for you and a slice for me. We fed them to each other and fell into each other's arms as if it was the first time again. All these years later, you are gone and soon I will be gone too, but in this moment I sit at the foot of the most beautiful apple tree I've ever seen holding a slice of you. It's just like it was then
Jack-O-Lantern
I lay there plump among the grasses and weeds when I caught your gaze. Of all the beautiful, orange, and round pumpkins, you chose me. You took me into your arms and carried me all the way home. You took your knife you carved a wild crooked smile across my face. I will wear it until the day that I rot. You saw something in me that I could not see in myself. You brushed the worms and dirt from my soft body. You baptised me there right in your kitchen sink and you believed that I could be more. You made me beautiful. You held me up high, proud of your creation, and all I can do is smile