Printer Friendly

SPOONS.

 We can never befriend spoons
We gaze at them tenderly, slurping soup
We dress in bright clothes, but they strip themselves
Pouring away delicacies plundered from the world
A spoon prefers its socket empty doesn't want soup to give it an
eye
Doesn't want to read the menu's epitaphs
Sometimes, I think I hear a spoon describe its long-lost village--
The river blackened by a mine that used to echo with woodpeckers
No matter how many spoons we buy, we can't befriend them
A spoon prefers its socket empty, doesn't want to meet our eyes
It wants to be naked, it won't pluck a single blade of grass
It only uses its silvery voice to confide in a bowl
I don't remember how many spoons I've bought
I study the language of this blind poet's socket
Eating soup before a play, I try to make my slurping sing
The roar of the spoon's interior
COPYRIGHT 2019 University of Chicago
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 2019 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Huang Fan
Publication:Chicago Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Jun 22, 2019
Words:202
Previous Article:HAT.
Next Article:NANJING NIGHT SONG.
Topics:

Terms of use | Privacy policy | Copyright © 2020 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters