Kathryn Duroseau

Sweet Evocations
Kathryn Duroseau

My mother talks to me about college while I’m looking outside the window at the blackberry bush and memories arise.

My grandmother, Mimi, is cutting us mangoes, their skin flushed from the ever-giving sun, the promise of golden sweetness within.

That summer has been going by so fast, in a blur of cherry and juniper green.

My sister and I share a punnet of berries in my bed and the sunlight plants us in this moment.

I take my time to smell the mango in the kitchen and to taste the strawberries Papi has been growing in his garden.

Mimi’s wrinkled hands are scattered with lines and sunspots that remind me of yellow freckled bananas; she is ripe now.

I stand on my toes peeking at the baby. My aunt finally comes home after spending days in the hospital. She comes closer to me and reveals a little head with pink cheeks.

I love oranges and how they give their fragrance to the air... I always ask Mimi to give me some, igniting memories of sun-kissed summer days.

My mother is talking to me about college while I’m looking outside the window, barely listening to her.

In the mornings, I cut apple slices into moon shapes to feel like a child, but I eat the skin.

I am 8 years old grabbing my mom’s skirt and begging her to let me spend the spring days with Papi because it meant planting runner beans, courgettes and more.

My sister and I are running, our feet kissing the land, laughing and screaming.

My knees always looked like pomegranates. That’s what Papi tells me while cleaning the blood off of them and gently patting them.

I can see my grandparents dancing together under the silver moon. I believed what kept them young at heart was the purity of the Martinican’s light and how it gave them the gift of dance.

My sister and I are not yet grown, soft as a peach’s flesh.

When I think back, that summer is like bruised blackberries, syrupy and imperfect and so full that the juice bursts and drips down my chin.


Author's note: I love writing because I’m not good at expressing myself vocally so I find comfort in writing words. Whenever I write, I almost always make it about myself like writing a diary. I wrote this piece because I’m finishing high school and growing up. I looked back at my happy childhood memories. Realization hit me while writing this piece, how time flies fast. Enjoy every moment while you can.