The seed(s)
that cob of corn
sewn so long ago
Just for these hands
these lips
these teeth
I walk through
the city's intestines
adrift
stop and go
I greet, my voice curls
travels around the smoke
over the crude brazier, and rises
she nods a nod
I offer my coins
That seed and cob and fire
all lined up
to meet these hunger pangs
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem