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Mangoes
The telephone rings. I make the same mistake again and answer. My worry pushes my hand to the phone when all I want to do is sell mangoes in Corazon. You want to talk about your sad marriage. I want to be nice. The mangoes glow in the sun. Across from my stand are blue and yellow hammocks and the woman who pours red soda into plastic bags and punches them with straws. You say you dread your wife the way I fear the sound of cars in the rain. You cannot leave, you say, it would be wrong. I would flee tonight. I would pass through clouds, eat mangoes, lean back against the palm. |
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Before taking up writing full-time, J. Stephen Rhodes served as the academic dean of Memphis Theological Seminary and as a Presbyterian pastor. His poetry has appeared in Shenandoah, Tar River Poetry, The William and Mary Review, and The International Poetry Review. He is currently working on a book dealing with the relationship between service and self-care and is seeking publication of his first book of poetry. He lives with his wife, Ann, on a farm in south central Kentucky. |
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Date of Publication: 01 May 2008 |
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