Grace Shieh, Wanderer

Wanderer Grace Shieh

I carried a suitcase of pineapples to the Arctic Little pockets of sun, heat, and laughter With all my fingers I dug one open

The pines rebelled, cutting my ring finger Blood dripped down Frozen before it reached the ground Rubies I called them

I picked up the pineapple My dowry to the arctic And chugged all its juice Sweetness exploding Some golden tears falling

In the innermost ring I found my men Dancing like little drunk bastards

With their happiest faces In groomsmen’s clothes Fingers pointing At my amusing sorrowful face

In this place where a wanderer’s courage fades Freedom isolation a breath away They left a piece of themselves

With me

Suddenly I see A slice of me left behind In their memories and prayers An empty space in the dance Reserved for me

Now in both ends of the world We are no longer complete But doomed, Some pineapple in the Arctic Glacier in the tropic.