mourning cuisine

i have truly lost something important

yet i cannot remember what that something was

a vague form may come to mind at times
faintly, the scent might soon be caught
but when i walk into my dreams
i cannot touch or see anything

neighbors gather in the yard
they plan to hold a funeral for an unknown something
without my soul of mind considered

my heart is less ripe
trembling with a crispy sound, shivering

the summer night is filled with humidity,
the crowd drenched in sweat,
barely manages to position their thighs on chairs
and between their jostling
a horrendous rotten smell emerges

ding-dong
the bell tolls, and the moment for silence begins

meanwhile, i’m at the back where the event unfolds
in a tiny kitchen vibrating with the stench of fishy taste
i bring out a newly bought Chinese knife
to dissect the clump of
blood-stained flesh of your body
i even try to scrape off
the already-hardened skin with the blade
struggling with all my might,
i thrust the knife into the flesh to cut through it

finally,
with the pieces of the dismembered body
i ponder whether to fry,
to boil,
to roast them

the assembled neighbors
rub their sweat-stained soles against the floor
their joints creaking as they bow twice
in front of an empty picture frame

the savory aroma emanating from the kitchen
sneaks through the window to the yard
the hungry crowd begins to swim towards the back near the kitchen with
anticipationin mourning, there is no starting point nor destination he said
my voice is nowhere to be found

suddenly, within me
i unearth a vibrant blue crayon heart

the sensation of loss is too dreadful
so from now on
to quickly forget the fact of loss
i vow to lose myself
in order to forget