Who hasn’t eaten over the kitchen sink
Letting the faucet trickle truths suppressed
Between mouthfuls of charred rice, promises for drink
Watching the same bougainvillea grow nonetheless.
Meanwhile, sirens broadcast another funeral event
I am not invited—though the mail is yet to arrive.
That will be tomorrow, when the morning is spent
Vacuuming little pictures of past lovers bestride
Benign molecules that rest on my carpet helping me forget.
Or the next day, as I watch the mockingbirds
Play house, the scattering of seeds over a marigold sunset
I yearn like a cat perched at the window-sill yearns
For rays of sun scratched deep into my back
Like dishes and knives carefully placed on the drying rack.