Contributors
Publication Date
- April 2, 2020
For those who’ve grown up between those blessed latitudes that define the tropics, any sight of a banana plant, with its spaniel ears flopping in the breeze, is a homecoming. The banana plant of my childhood produced bouquets of four-inch fruits; its flowers were best consumed in a Bengali curry; its leathery leaves became plates at weddings and remain the greatest vessel for steaming fish — or anything, really. If Barragan had his pink watermelon glowing under a tarp, I will have my luminous banana plant, its shade tinged with a blissful tropical green.