how many words
my mother would not digestÂ
for me.
when she instead swallowedÂ
half the meat of a mango,Â
a chewed up slab of porridge,
she saysÂ
was for my name
to be tangible.
a girl born in the year of the dog
who goes on all four
limbs and picks at bonesÂ
beneath the bread basketÂ
of pork buns.
how bruised the inside of my teeth is
with eat, eat, eat.
my name is pregnantÂ
with half-digested peaches,
mango pits swallowed whole,
pruning chicken fingers in threes.
my name is a mutt
of two chopstick-fanged tigers.
how i want to gnawÂ
at the corner of their mouths
and pick their bones with my milk teeth,
splitting my throat openÂ
for bowlfuls
of hwachaeÂ
splaying like bok choyÂ
in the meatiness of my name.Â
how the mutt in me growlsÂ
for my stomach to churn
in diagonals for a mooncake
i will lose an appetite over.
how i want everything chewed
to a pulpÂ
and scooped back upÂ
like mashed tanghuluÂ
from the pit in my stomach.
how i want to ring my tongue like a towel
around a rucksack of meatballs.
how i want the second skin of a peach
to wrap my lips in gold.
how i want blood sugar
to pump in my veins.
how i want
to refold myselfÂ
into a fortune cookie for the family. Lucien is a Hong Kong based writer who loves candy stores. His works have been published in the Eunoia Review, Hotpot Magazine among many others. You can find him on Instagram: @delucienal_
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