Ripe Mango

… smells fragrant as I walk into the room. Blooms with a warm red blush on the gold skin. Feels somewhere between firm and soft to the touch; I interpret this as ‘just right’. I slice down each broad face, along the curve of the underlying stone. On the narrow sides, the skin starts peeling off the stone of its own accord. I take a sharp knife to finish that severance, then I slurp the clingy flesh from the sides of the stone. With my knife I score the two halves that I cut off first, criss-cross into tiny squares, leaving the skin whole. I bend the skin of each half backwards, so the squares of mango sit up, ready for me to scrape my teeth along them and suck them into my mouth. Sweetness, but not too sweet. Juiciness, wonderful in its excess. Taste and texture linger, completely satisfying.