How Could I Walk There?

I burn in a thousand summers: 

my hands, my wrists, my ankles swelling — 

hunger outliving every season.  

Restlessness carried over from winters: 

dust and curls, the afternoon waning. 

I burn in a thousand summers. 

Quiet room lit by the sun: 

dust and curls, a child wailing, 

hunger outliving every season. 

I can’t wait until the day after. 

Mouthful of stars, milk teeth falling, 

burning a thousand summers. 

Hand on the doorknob twisting sidewards, 

Paintings, wall after wall, varnish fading 

hunger outliving every season. 

Between rows of yellow teeth, my father 

looks back where my mother is standing, 

burning in a thousand summers, 

his hunger outliving every season.