we have to welcome with a queue of preparations—
Say we hold a banquet for Death
on his first visit.
So, it enters our household,
eats to stupor because of the meal's tastiness
stamples an immunity
against his second coming
on our doorposts and flee.
But, Death is a burglar;
he breaks into every household
and sucks every bosom
of joy in the household.
Maybe, Death is God's gift
to mankind—
my father's father knelt
before Death to lay
his jagged palms on him.
Maybe, my metaphor is inaccurate
like the pastors' prophecies
about Jesus' second coming.
Maybe, I'll never understand Death
like my country's government.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Because, why does Death
still watch an uncle plunge a girl
into an abyss of molestations?
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