poem

by Thu Anh Nguyen

The Long Way

There are days for shortcuts and then

there are the others: taking the back of my knife

to lemongrass, bruising better

for the flavor,

peeling ginger skin with a spoon,

frying and tasting, stirring

and tasting, looking for the gold,

still tasting.

The kitchen steams

like the fog so thick this morning

I could barely make anything out

but if anything makes sense,

it’s that flowers are more abundant

the week of your death.

Die on the 13th of the second month of the year,

and you guarantee yourself

bouquets, a beautiful altar for as long

as you’re remembered.

I take my cues from you:

never interested in fame,

and never in a rush.

I set your place

while I wait for finally

the curry almost the color of mangos, smells warm

and ripe like they do in summer.

But it’s not mango season,

your favorite season, so I make this offering

knowing how much it lacks;

I’ve cooked all morning for you

the long way,

like a prayer, like penance.

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Thu Anh Nguyen is a Vietnamese American poet whose poetry has been featured in the Southern Humanities Review, Cider Press Review,  NPR’s “Social Distance” poem for the community, The Crab Orchard Review, and Revolute. The author’s poems were also named as a semi-finalist for the Auburn Witness Poetry Prize for the Southern Humanities Review. She was honored with a writing residency with The Inner Loop Poetry Series in Washington, D.C. Her essays on the importance of reading diverse literature have been featured in Literacy Today. You may find her work at thuanhguyen.com.