She handed me two unripe mangos her family had picked earlier that day from trees that were not ready.
hot tears were dripping off her cheeks onto the cool, concrete floor of that small house. In my broken Spanish, I had asked her how she was & she opened her heart to me like she had opened her home.
“My husband’s motorcycle is broken, so he can’t go to work. We don’t have money for food. All we have is these unripe mangos.” Continue reading “SOUR MANGOS”