Sushi With Cutlery Poem by Tureygua Inaru

That peculiar musk on your hipster flannel…
marijuana: recreational, mixed with depression: clinical.
The aroma clings to your skin
as I undress your body
rubbing body
I'll make you brown like me too.

Our mouth-sounds
hushed moans in low tones
pleasure rising like heat
with only up to go…
Your eyes
so, so red
political cynical talk
as we lay naked, post-coital
in the middle of the night;
you play your 'The Beatles' on ukulele for show
repeating 'Me gusta Latinas' like I don't know.

The pitying squint on your forehead
as I pull my cardigan one shoulder at a time
then I say 'I'm tired—I don't think I can drive.
Can I stay? '
Hugging me quickly
you say I am fine.

Do you remember our first date?
You showed up to my house
with the tag on your dashiki turned inside out
we went for sushi
and when I positioned the slender wooden sticks
in your hand
with a kiss, you said
'Judgmental'.
You're just mental.
Then we screamed and spilled the sake
in front of the open-mouthed 'Orientals'.

After the date
you nailed me to the wall like a painting
hanging me up like an ornamented Indian-on-a-tree
placing me on a shelf
like a beautiful decorative piece
so high
I'll never be tall enough to reach

as blue irises locked with deep brown
I recognized
my shrinking reflection in your eyes…
sexual tension peaking, releasing
I was reaching for that place
but you pushed me to my knees;
you wanted it—NOW—
on my face.

I'm your candy, Willy Wonka.
I'm the squaw that you saw in the store window
a long time ago
an exotic trophy on display
cold, alone
with nowhere to go
a foreigner in her own home
begging strangers for a white bone.