LOVE SONG OF THE PLATANOS MADUROS
No, this is not a song for us, ripe plantains sliced and fried in a pan.
This is a song for you, a song in praise of your mouth and tongue,
a song anticipating your anticipation of the first bite into our yellow
hearts, a song to celebrate the delirium of the first kiss from you.
No, this is not a song for us, the alchemy of the tough skin green,
then yellow, then black. This is a song for you, a song in praise
of your nose, breathing us in, a song for your eyes as they close
to contemplate this offering more tempting than the wafer in church.
No, this is not a song for us, flying from islands where the peasant
stain of the platano says: This is who I am. This is a song for you,
a song in praise of your hands, lifting us slowly on the fork as if
to savor the delicacy of aristocrats, a song of delight in your delight.
We live to be useful, and useful we will be, warming your belly as you
crave one more. We will doe heroes. We will die happy on your lips.
____________________
Martin Espada
Jailbreak of Sparrows
Knopf 2025
