by Liwa Sun
I slice myself into a thousand wafers,
each one scorned by a land. In my second
life I inhabit a panopticon. Sample different
sets of humiliations, trying to decide if
democracy is worth this fight. A lump of
sadness explodes, a drenched
My forbearance shrugged at, my
skin burnt. Garish sun besieges me,
impaling lids. Oriental lids. I grin
and my teeth melt so as to avoid
the real questions. If I will have to go
back, what good does it do me to revel
I am a
thrown out of the bath water.
Liwa Sun is a Chinese writer, poet, and a game-theorist-wannabe. Her works are forthcoming in The Bare Life Review and elsewhere. She lets poetry contaminate her memory, in which she rejoices. She lives in Philadelphia with a small couch and mountains of books.