At what price?

I woke up with a poem in me. Buoyed by someone I met yesterday – a complete stranger from Cambodia  who heard me recite a poem once (how random, I know!) – I just feel like exploring things and feelingsw inside me through verse.

I am reminded by this meeting that we are indeed relational beings. That we sometimes bring out the inert parts of ourselves by someone’s remembrance of their existence and spirit. I have been seeing blank pages for months when I have tried to write a poem. But this morning, it all feels possible again.

Thank you Bopha!


At what price?

It’s the innards that they despise,

The inner things like lungs and livers

That sit slimy and limp

On a market heap;

At what price should a heart be sold

Or thrown away

rotting flesh revulsive to the eaters of more tender cuts of


At what price?

At what price?

Those inner things that entrail our beings

that are sometimes sold too cheap;

a dollar for two or ten or twenty

roasted over fires

too hot and insincere,

returned tough and over-salted,

quickly  torn and swallowed;

At what price?


Photograph is taken from

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