Sweet Rice

Which is always sticky rice

Which always needs generous
amounts of coconut milk 

Sugar tempered with salt
Sometimes a spoonful of lye
A wrap of smoky leaf

Which is the way to conjure
those mixed undertones—
Fog? Tears? Pensive
uncertain desire?

Most certainly regret
And that variety well known 
to mothers

In any case

Bring everything to a boil in a pot
which has seen better days

Stir from the core of your gut
Don't let your arm fall

The right consistency
a holding together—
Each grain plumpsoft

Allowing this closeness
in the name of sweet

When something is good
it might be described as having made you 
forget your name

Forget the ache

Sometimes glutinous
is mistaken for gluttonous—

A hunger that won't stop
until something bursts

It takes time to thicken anything
And mere moments to burn


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