Photo by Sebastien Stam
Seeking My Tongue in Progress
Mea Andrews
Squatting over wet shit and a cigarette,
I can feel my Americanism flare up,
my need for modern plumbing
and a toilet seat defeated by an overloaded
bladder.
My husband sees progress, the years
building on each other, remembering
how his family could only afford
an egg on his birthday and how
he got his vaccinations
with the prisoners
where his grandfather worked
as a guard.
Today there’s a KFC
across from his parents’ apartment,
the only place to get coffee,
a supermarket next door
where people line up to check out,
eggs sold by the dozen.
A few minutes away in any direction
are pepper, corn and peanut
farms changing seasonally.
His aunts and uncles wrinkled
after years under the sun, skin
spread taut over high cheekbones.
There’s a saying, féishuǐ bù liú wàirén tián,
don’t fertilize another’s field.
I search for my tongue
in the darkness of his aunt’s outhouse,
how many fields have I watered?
Mea Andrews
Squatting over wet shit and a cigarette,
I can feel my Americanism flare up,
my need for modern plumbing
and a toilet seat defeated by an overloaded
bladder.
My husband sees progress, the years
building on each other, remembering
how his family could only afford
an egg on his birthday and how
he got his vaccinations
with the prisoners
where his grandfather worked
as a guard.
Today there’s a KFC
across from his parents’ apartment,
the only place to get coffee,
a supermarket next door
where people line up to check out,
eggs sold by the dozen.
A few minutes away in any direction
are pepper, corn and peanut
farms changing seasonally.
His aunts and uncles wrinkled
after years under the sun, skin
spread taut over high cheekbones.
There’s a saying, féishuǐ bù liú wàirén tián,
don’t fertilize another’s field.
I search for my tongue
in the darkness of his aunt’s outhouse,
how many fields have I watered?