by Nuha Shaikh
There are no more sacred places,
Just land where gold once hid,
Just shards of history that
I now use to pick through my memories.
What do we collect when we eat?
Does the type of consumption matter
More than what is being consumed?
I wonder if the winners are always
The ones who are eaten,
We all lose in the end,
And their lives are the sweetest to taste.
I’ve never tried it but I’ve heard
That you taste like silk-silver,
Like molten metal made soft again
Is that not what success is?
A delicacy, to be sure.
In our jealousy and shame,
We watched you devour him,
And it seemed like enough
Until you turned to us and said:
Silk-silver or jade-water,
I take what I can get,
And I can taste everything,
For the world is made for
Creatures like me,
And isn’t this fair?