Han: after monsoon, you bring the best mango,
ripe. It rains still. We sit on our floor in Kolkata.
Bite into the flesh, explain nothing
Your face is shaped like mine.
Don’ t that feel nice?
To explain nothing. Thirst. A star anise.
An alley of men who move en route to market,
aside. Assume that we are married. Naturally,
I met you at the embassy. My husband
introduced you as a brother. I have lost.
The wok, on its side, is a furnace.
Empty. It comes from root of kin
meaning copper cataplana. In Portuguese,
a stew. You let me, in the kitchen, watch.
My husband sets his table knowing
why I need you. Feed the pyre.
Han: your face is shaped like mine.
As a brother.
In forgetting you, the heart broke once. I picked a place to stand. In waiting
I forgot for whom I was waiting, whom I was naming, whom the city broke.
a capsicum / overturned in the street
becomes, as people stop, / a bone.
It works well as an immigrant to own _____—a way out of it. Of what? I staved off what.
It works well—to blast those people out. What. What the fuck did you say.
silence, / metal hips, you don’ t
belong here. Speak.