Ode to Cantonese

In Cantonese
I can lie
above the melee
and let them
say their piece

let them pierce
each other and I,
out of the needle’s way
completely, completely
completely

myself.
Tones batter, weather storms
and rise with typhoons and
inquiry. In Cantonese
four is to pledge death and
new year’s fat choi
rolls and trembles into
February

in Cantonese
a love song
sounds like torture

because they find love hard to say

but still
I like the way his
whole body changes at the
switch from English into
mother tongue

with that
low-slung, guttural
pitching
breaking waves like
cliff-sides wiped with honey
under steel
sharp and close with want
like a bear trap

until every rounded oh
is echoed by my own.

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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