after a lifetime of holding onto your futile tongue | Lê Vĩnh Tài

language
like poetry, you wrote it seven times
and seven times she asked: what are you asking?

you didn’t bite the wrong tongue
if you’re a red-whiskered bulbul
you could say or call
a name over and over again

you repeat it seven times
the poem is without a word of welcome
that could give you a chance to stay

you ran out of money so you went home
so the poem
could relax, worry, be sad
the sadness scattered across the city

you search your pockets
pulling them inside out, nothing
a city with the sun high in the sky
and spinning like your life

you pray for luck
since you can’t just live on air
6pm in the afternoon
the lotto numbers come out pale and faded like your face

you get these shivers all the time
now and then light
as though you’re no longer drifting
like an unsure flick of your fingers
a quiver in the sunlight

through the window of your home
you ran out of money
but everything is so alive
outside

not giving up
you place a plank of your life down

you clutch the shell in your hand
tighten your fist

we once upon a time came from the sea
looked for a place to hide from the gale
as the poetry howl
death comes for us as clear as day
after a lifetime of holding on
to your futile tongue

your futility
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October 2023
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