A smiling woman who may be missing a tooth furrows her brow in the eagerness to please as I am jammed full of dirty porcelain and slobbery table scraps.
The world is hungry
and my poor mechanisms cannot keep up with its gluttony.
I am as full and as heavy as the room where intelligence could not mask anger--
heaping plates of history and names my palate has not adjusted to
taste like salt and slime and rust--
I cannot swallow it all.
Pakistan Afghanistan India America Britain
Blame Blame Blame
Hate Hate Hate
A small voice goes unanswered:
"WHat can we do? Is there hope?"
The silent response is the heaviest dish of all.
It is getting hotter in here,
someone has turned on the sun.
I peel off hazy flakes of skin,
the guilt for taking a dirty dish and polishing it with pretty words.
Dramatic Pose: "I haven't suffered enough!"
Even success weighs on me.
And so I wait.
"What for?" Gogo asks.
But I am dumb.
I have no name to speak and console his anxious, hungry, tired self.
for an invisible hand to pull my straining ropes,
and lower me to a depth I have not been before
that I may be relieved
and the dishes cleaned
So both are fit to serve again.