Her mother tongue fails her in this moment—she has no words for what she holds in her hand. It's like watching someone study rounded, purpled light. I give her a piece and she licks at the edge where skin releases flesh, squints at the tartness, pauses and I hold an image of my father laying out a plate of pitted and sliced plums during their fleeting season—a small, tender gesture with small, tender fruit. Her pause gives way to a bite which gives way to a rush of a smile as she finds sweetness. And for a moment— as Mala declares I would eat these every day if I could— this hot throbbing day in this hot throbbing city expands until I can almost believe it holds home.
—Jessica Pierce
Published in The Christian Science Monitor, September 2009.
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