Think of this, poet,
when you write down your little truth:
We pry our heads open with a knife
and spill out the brain on a tin plate,
and pass it on to four or five people
squatting on the bamboo floor.
We sprinkle salt
onto the red nebula,
Have to offer them vinegar
with kisses of a million chili peppers, too.
What we’ve given out may not do much
than to fill their mouths
and trim their bodies
into thin bamboo sticks,
but one thing’s for sure:
We offer something new
in this universe of plates,
appeal to those wide-eyed
who rarely have such a feast.
They all sure take our red cosmos in,
and think of black heaven
in a country of lost fish heads.
Think of this, poet,
when you write down your truth.
—
Erika Navaja works in a call center and is in love.