The world is no longer
nation and nation,
my companion said last night
over a bowl of warm rice.
It is one being, one body.
And if the abdomen suffers,
the whole being suffers.
engulfs lives and leaves us indifferent.
We are told that in illness thrives
the opportunity for healing, I said,
the white grains tipping
to rim our bowls,
but we are busy
creating anthills so quickly
they crumble under our feet as we climb.
We dig into 'reality' screens that harden
the lacquer of our false perceptions.
We each take our spoon and begin.
I look up as he says this:
Brackish water churns and the abdomen, the leg
the hand, the arm suffer.
And I think,
we thrive elsewhere,
but the infection arrives.
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