Pinapaitan*

Slaughter the raucous animal
then singe the short hairs down
to ashy gristle. Take the knife
and sweep it across the length
and breadth of its back until
it glistens like pale marble.
Under its voluptuous library
of organs, that one olive-
shaded sac you’ll puncture,
those bitter drops to scatter
like benediction over the soup:
May you live with this aftertaste
of metal, with this glint of iron
and the sharpness of bile. Dissolving,
let the wound make bearable
every taste that follows after.

*Pinapaitan