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Mangos and Managua
December 16, 2014
I go to “help.”
Turns out, my help isn’t needed.
Instead, it’s my presence
My love
My smile
My hugs
And the most puzzling
My white skin.
Here, I am unique.
A gringa.
Boys and girls alike
Run up with mile-wide smiles
Tuck themselves under my my arms
Grab my hands
And won’t let go.
I can see it
In their eyes
Saying,
“I deserve love,”
And who am I to disagree.
With the mango trees
Whispering around us
While we stand
In silent embrace
I look around and know
Unwaveringly certain
This is exactly where
I’m supposed to be.
© Mary A., Fullerton, CA
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This poem was inspired by an experience I had traveling in Nicaragua. I hope to illustrate that sharing warmth and love is universal and needs no language.