Where Durians Grow
My years as an orangutan in Borneo
begin one muggy afternoon without warning.
I am sitting at the back of the lecture hall
trying to stay human-focused
while Professor Ekoos is talking
about the behavior of the elusive red apes
in their natural tangled habitat,
about the serenity observed in them,
and how they do not need to give
because they do not need to receive.
But I am sleep-deprived,
awake for nights, swarmed by bitter dreams—
perennial student and past forty
still looking for answers—
They say you can love too much. And I did.
Lord, set me free. However much is given,
nothing is ever enough.
I look at the slides Professor Ekoos is showing
of the dense tropical rain forest,
a duality in the cosmos alive with change:
darkness under canopies of trees
and glows of low red sun from above. I feel
my mind lift slightly out of my body,
swirl up through glass pane, past carnivorous
insects and obstacle-choked terrain, and settle
finally in a jackfruit tree
outside myself somewhere in a remote jungle.
I sit in this green Eden, perched firmly on
a tree branch of ripe smelly oval durians, reach
for one, peel back the hard prickly rind and taste
the sweet cream-colored pulp. |
