Mango Seasons

In the afternoon, while I'm on the porch, the rains begin. This first rain is only a sprinkle and the ground quickly drinks it up. My children, who are playing in the yard, look to the sky, wanting more. Their hair glistens . . . A breeze, cooled by the rain, passes across the house. I hold my hands to my face and smell on them the mango flowers I sliced. I must have a little sweetness in my life, I think, not damp hands and indifferent kisses.