experiment

[autumnsoliloquy90]

I've been seeing a lot of good material lately, got inspired to dabble my filthy fingers into this new territory myself. Experimenting always gotta start somewhere.

The Doing

Love is a verb, just like all the other verbs
whose syntax in a German sentence
I always get wrong.
Dead breathless objects
Utilitarian tools
Words that still taste funny in my mouth,
I hope they are an acquired taste
Like raw fish that I used to hate
Yet now desire.
(Gastric cancer is the number one
killer of the Japanese.)

Verb at the end, verb at the end
But I could never ever wait till the full stop
I am always too eager for
The doing word is, after all
the most important
Not the state,
nor the adjective
nor the noun
But the action.
(In Japanese a verb alone suffices
to bring a sentence
to completion.)

So my mouth would always shoot the verb anywhere
Within the fucking sentence
In blatant disregard for protocol
For vanity.
For this semantic error is now
cemented in my brain
And it is nigh impossible to ever unlearn
What you have already learnt
(Love.)

Thread

My mother
was a mistress of the seams
a virtuoso of the needle
her fingers working their magic
into the hem of every skirt
every curtain
threading their way into wedding photos
of sisters-in-law who hated
the prickly sting of her strength

My mother
wanted to be an expert of the books
but they gave her away
with the fresh amniotic fluid still clinging to her skin
a newborn stomach that would always be only half full
a mouth that never wants to eat

So she sew a button in, a day out
and sent her daughter to school
to learn how to become
a weaver of words

In the island of rain
the humid air rusted the sewing machine
the water in this country
made her fingers rancid
so they scrubbed the floors of the houses
in the rich suburbs, she proudly tells
her white bosses,
where she sends her child
to learn how to sew people's skins together

She flipped through the layers
of papers
of the books
she once wanted to be an expert of
the book was printed half a world away
from the town she was born in
didn't understand the foreign words
so she looked at the pictures instead
in awe, smiling proudly

Why do you cry, Mother?
Is it because
your daughter does not even know how
to string a thread through the mouth
of your needle?
It is so difficult, Mother
you gave them everything and your dreams
but they forgot that the clothes on their backs
were the masterpiece you've been working on
in nightlight all alone
while your husband was in the desert
digging dreams while you weaved them
into the tapestry
that held this
family
together.

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