as if color is sweetness

look how she paints cantaloupe
halved in morning’s long light
as if color is sweetness
worked into the wounds
of her old wooden table

each morning she goes to the market
selects what fruit she can find
and with her worn brushes
she wends her way
well into moonlight 

she understands the sun departs
much in the same manner it arrives
mingling its orange strands
among streaks of shadow
spilled on the floor

and in this light
she takes her last peach
gives it a new color
over and over she does this
slicing cantaloupes peaches pears

until
she sees what she’s searching for
it is the color of mango
held in her first love’s hand