Young Blood

Teacher tells me

it's not good to pick fruits

too early from the orchard.

It's rude to wake them up

before they've finished bathing in the sun,

before they've grown

juicy and ripe.

I'm not sure I believe it so.

There's beauty in watching

the fruit blooming,

unwind,

the flesh newly open

to the bite of sharpened teeth.

Yesterday I learned

unripe can be a delicacy.

That plátanos maduros

when green

taste so good after being

fried in peanut oil

at medium heat.

So why do I hesitate

to pick mulberries 

from the bushes

evergreen?

I guess I can't bear to feel

the spit of my patrons on the skin 

of my face, dripping

in a cocktail of

red, white and blue.

Anything but serene comfort.

I stay on my toes

to grab onto a sample

still shy of the ground.

I reach because I hope

I'll see the world like them

from the branches of the tree.

What's wrong with an early release

if both parties

se dan placer antes de dormir.

I think what really matters

is the texture of the harvest.