A Prophet Without Words
after Mai Der Vang
God told me to scissor the night
to practice my vowels.
After bias comes Isa comes kisah,
after poison comes Jesus comes a tale.
After padi comes beras comes nasi,
after rice comes rice comes rice.
My faith wreathes into a red scarf
a refugee wears, it smells like home.
The washing instructions say:
If one cannot divide,
one must go across the Red Sea.
Years ago, I was a son who came home
bringing bread every day.
Ramah leads to marah leads to remah,
kindness leads to anger leads to crumbs.
Looking across the sea,
I left my sack of rice back home.
|Copyright © 1999 – 2023 Juked|