There is a reason these hands are stained.
No release, no break, illegal panting —
in the kitchen, I am, something is brewing —
and for this, I repent, early enough to acknowledge sin.
Sinking into the floor, small fits of vulgarity,
the grave is dug. The dish is done. Ding!
Often, that bell rings regardless of completion,
it rings maddeningly at the dawn of caress,
I am plated, presented, and full.
I am ready to be a product for you,
heaving over the hot wok with bile
latched to my innermost workings,
there is luster, there is shine,
there is me, and I am criminal.
Offensive in its pursuit, presenting
face up, façade. Tell me, if you are not
investing in what I have to offer,
why do the prongs of your fork
dig deeper into my flesh for a second bite?
Ryan Amejka (he/him) is an emerging poet from the Greater Philadelphia area and an undergraduate student at Rowan University. He has lived abroad in Tokyo, Japan and hopes to colorfully chronicle this experience through his work. You can find him on Instagram: @ryanaceam
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