Avocados and Mangos

I wonder how things might be

If I hadn’t gone away

Could I have stopped anyone

From going astray?

No, I doubt I have that kind of control

Over anyone’s life

Especially when mine was such a mess

Like avocados and mangos overripe

That pit in the fruit

Is like the pit in the middle

Of my stomach stretched out

By bitterness and riddles

Or the hairy sweet flesh

Of mangos rotting

Like the tears of betrayal

On our momma’s face blotting

Out the ability to distinguish

Between hurt and harm

Intention and dementia, life in the city

Is way worse than the farm

But I’ve lost the point

Of why I started writing

I can’t block out the sound

Of my sister crying

Or my brother sighing

Or my dad denying

That he ought to take any responsibility

We’ll never know how things ought to be.