Mango Chips

by Samuel De Lemos

I’m the voice in my
own song in the world

that I see.
The bitter truth
is I project my

perceptions onto
the softness of mango
chips and the starkness
of maroon painted
walls.

White framed doorways
and cream candles lined
up on a ten by
twelve inch green
concrete slab.

Twenty-one images all because
two people fell in love.

The
sound of fidgeting with
plastic bags and the
whisk of a fan they
become part of me
I then impart unto thee.