Lulu Carrigan has a bachelor of arts in creative writing and three typewriters (two are broken). She has only been published, with a loose definition of the word, on her blog, luluthezulu.tumblr.com, or on twitter, @lulucarrigan. Talk to her about poetry, art, mopeds, music, people, places and things!
Mangos
Somewhere there is a woman who eats five mangos a day. One for breakfast, lunch, teatime, dinner and a mango before bed. Somedays she can’t wait for the mangos to fully ripen and she eats them while they are still firm and sour. These mangos are almost better than the sweet ones. One day a man will fall in love with her, watching her eat a mango. She ritualistically cuts around the pit and then, cradling the blushing fruit in her palm, cuts a grid of lines through the fresh, vibrant flesh. He swells when she turns the fruit inside out, lively orange squares rising from the skin like a strangely juicy skyline. But the way she eats the mango, ravenously, sucking and smacking with passion, tearing at the flesh with shining teeth, scraping every last bit from the skin before moving to the pit, relishing every moment spent devouring the luscious fruit, it makes him yearn for her to devour him the same way.
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