“the 0 in home” by Kenneth Su

i disassemble the vertebrae and roll the rice grains between

my fingers, hoping you would take the hint. the moth-filled lamp

casts a muted gradient against the dirt floor. your hair scowls 

and my breath stands on end. a drunken sow pads the

concrete oasis, the vroom of the city, the silence of the sky.

 you point to the decomposing tilapia and i swallow the maggots inside.

you say dis-CUSS but it comes out as dis-GUST

and i don’t correct you.

the next morning we catch a train to the capital and watch

the beggars grab at the rails as they blur into oblivion. i avert my eyes,

honey in my mouth, sword through my chest. vows – like eggs –

like hearts – are easily broken . i stare at the scrolling neon.

it reads 11:34… red line. one-way, because you say

there is nothing to come back for anyways.

we could come back for the beggars, i say.

you sigh.

the metro is a closed loop. a sleeping dragon.

golden gates long eroded into metal arches, immortal, eternal.

for a minute i swear i can see the bright blue sky, but that is just a dream;

where we are going, there is no sky. the train lurches. the gates tremble.

bones will not burn if left to the flame – that i learned the hard way.

the tongue splinters but the lips make no sound – that i learned the hard way, too.

you scold me with your kiss on my cheek.

i grab my ticket tightly with my good hand.

Kenneth Su is a Chemical Engineering student from Chandler, Arizona. In his free time, he enjoys reading, writing, and exploring campus. Some of his life goals--in no particular order--are traveling the world, learning how to cross-stitch, and tending a vegetable garden.