Postcard from Costa Rica


At the fruit stand, I was in heaven.  I ate mango: sun-warmed, sweet, juicy, a piece of the sun and earth.  With sticky fingers, I tried guayaba, tough, seemingly unripe, and filled with small, hard seeds.  The caimito, a fruit I had never seen before, was three consecutive experiences.  First: soft and sweet, tender; second: even sweeter, like the brown sugar of a bruised apple; third: bitter, like the core.  Piña and papaya and melón remained on my tongue with their sweetness.


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