I would have brought you home
if my hands hadn’t decided to make a game of you,
tossed you back into the water.
Chalk-white, catching the afternoon sun with your teeth
picked clean by fish,
washed over and over again by the warm sea.
I picture you made whole from scavenged parts.
Rubber boots from the market. Brown, pitted skin and big,
waving-away hands that men have.
Only a man can lose himself like that,
drop their jaw into the water like losing a set of keys.
Like losing time, face, half their liver to drink.
- Lee Jing-Jing