Szechuan Chicken

mala-chicken-26

*Image found HERE

*Translation is below

Szechuan Chicken

Because I am
the village witch
and I watch the mint
traverse seven liquids
to soothe a wasteland
yet everything inside my belly
is still a junkyard of stars,
flickering
like broken, pilled up
shattered lanterns
with no light-maker around
to give them new eyes.
If darkness had a lover,
it would be fire.

Perhaps, because I am
too young to understand
the need for dressing carcasses,
the Mother’s will to let this
procession be conducted on porcelain;
we call the savage mouth a flower.
Perhaps because everything else
tastes like hands
of ancestors I never held,
their thoughts mere muffled screams
in the dirt of the highway.
Perhaps because I gorged
on puffiest clouds
like confectionaries,
perhaps because
I ate too many a loveless bread;
chewed, stuffed, gizzard – seasoned,
but I felt nothing.
Perhaps because my father
did not know
there’s already been
at least a thousand things
that made me cry.

I need all,
to start, to end,
with red.
I sit in the darkness, and I consume,
my body grows, I am full,
grateful, but nothing.
I need all to start with red,
end with red,
I want a throat of hummingbirds,
I am choked by dull melancholy,
I want it, like a firecracker:
bursting, smearing, alive.
For I am, like a forest,
unable to hold itself under the heavy rain,
unable to bare fruit,
steadfast, charmed by the flicker,
needing the burn;
a volcano pleading all entities
to churn.

Perhaps because my lips
do not remember the breath,
but only a cycle,
Perhaps because all around me
knows the smell of Earth’s blood,
Perhaps because it is a ritual
or a dare of drowsy shamans,
perhaps an old man’s last dream
murmuring through my tongue,
do I always sit
and eat Szechuan chicken,
and sometimes the devil joins me,
sometimes a god,
sometimes a ghastly wind
of Mexico
overtakes my lungs,
sometimes nobody.
Because I am the village witch
I burn
and watch how sweetly
all the reds are taking turn.

*Inspired by the prompt for Day Six of NaPoWriMo. I know it is way beyond the classic food poem, but it is very personal for me.

Ever since I know of myself, I devour hot & spicy food. You can’t even call it hot & spicy to be honest, my closest kin calls it “murder”. My father played a big role in helping me discover my eating passion, because he thought it would be funny to let a little girl eat a Lebanese ultra-hot sauce he used to eat while serving the military, but the joke was on him (he cried from hotness, I didn’t). I love chinese food, I love Asian style of cooking, and if I had to marry a dish I’d marry Szechuan Chicken, no doubt. Unfortunately, maybe 2 people out of hundreds I know like it (we are the pljeskavica country!) so I am constantly asked Why do I always eat chinese food, and why do I always eat everything so hot & spicy. Here’s your answer: I LOVE IT! I am notoriously addicted to the pepper burn, and I have no intention of curing my habits!

Here it is on Serbian:

Sechuan Piletina

Jer sam
seoska vestica
i gledam kako nana
putuje kroz sedam tecnosti
da umiri pustosh
ali sve u stomaku mi je
i dalje samo djubriste za zvezde,
trepere
kao slomljene, nagomilane,
popucale svetiljke
bez spravljaca svetla u blizini
da im da nove ochi.
Kada bi tama imala ljuubavnika,
bila bi to vatra.

Mozda, jer sam suvise mlada
da bih razumela
potrebu za prelivanjem lesina,
Majcinu volju da dozvoli
ova povorka da se izvodi na porcelanu;
nazivamo divlja usta cvecem.
Mozda zato sto sve drugo
ima ukus ruku
predaka, nikad drzanih,
njihove misli tek uguseni vrisci
u prasini autoputa.
Mozda zato sto sam prozdirala
najpufnastije oblake
kao da su slatkisi,
mozda zato sto
sam se najela hleba bez ljubavi;
izvakanog, napunjenog, zacinjenog smrvljenim zeludcima,
ali nisam osetila nista.
Mozda zato sto moj otac
nije znao
da vec je bilo
najmanje hiljadu stvari
koje su me rasplakale.

Treba mi sve,
da pocne, da se zavrsi,
crvenim.
Sedim u mraku i konzumiram,
moje telo raste, puna sam,
zahvalna, ali sam nista.
Treba mi sve da pocne sa crvenim,
zavrsi sa crvenim,
zelim zdrelo ispunjeno kolibrijima,
gusi me dosadna melanholija,
zelim je, kao petardu:
buknuce, razmazivanje, zivot.
Jer sam, kao suma,
u nemogucnosti da zagrli samu sebe granama
pod teskom kisom,
u nemogucnosti da cveta voce,
postojana, opcinjena treptajem,
treba mi sagorevanje;
vulkan koji moli sve entitete
da buckaju.

Mozda jer se moje usne
ne secaju daha,
vec samo ciklusa.
Mozda jer sve oko mene
znam miris Zemljine krvi,
mozda jer je to ritual
ili izazov uspavanih shamana,
mozda poslednji san nekog starca
koji mi zagori kroz jezik
zato uvek sedim
i jedem Sechuan piletinu,
i ponekad mi se djavo pridruzi,
ponekad neki bog,
ponekad utvarni vetar Meksika
preuzme moja pluca,
ponekad niko.
Jer sam seoska vestica
ja gorim
i gledam kako slatko
sve crveno
dolazi na red.

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~ by Oloriel on April 6, 2016.

20 Responses to “Szechuan Chicken”

  1. Wonderful poem!

  2. Bravo!!! Memento! 🙂

    Blood has been coloured by me!
    Red & juicy
    Slippery & thick
    Vague and exquisite
    Colour me, uncolour me…

  3. “If darkness had a lover,
    it would be fire.”

    I love that.

  4. I love the passion in this. Truly consuming and so ALIVE. Like fire. Burn, baby, burn! Hell yes! But it’s this quiet part that captivating me the most:

    “perhaps an old man’s last dream
    murmuring through my tongue,”

    Lovely.

    • Thank you very much for reading and taking the time to leave me a word of your own! And yes, I’m all in for the burn! 😀

  5. Ovako pevaju vile 🙂

  6. Goodness. This is just so good. Delicious, really, from start to finish.
    My favorite:
    “yet everything inside my belly
    is still a junkyard of stars,
    flickering
    like broken”

    STUNNING.

  7. I love these sections:

    “I am
    the village witch
    and I watch the mint
    traverse seven liquids
    to soothe a wasteland
    yet everything inside my belly
    is still a junkyard of stars”

    “I need all to start with red,
    end with red,
    I want a throat of hummingbirds,
    I am choked”

    “my lips
    do not remember the breath,
    but only a cycle”

    “a ritual
    or a dare of drowsy shamans”

    “an old man’s last dream
    murmuring through my tongue”

    • Thank you very much for reading and taking the time to tell me your favourite parts, it means a lot to me! Have a wonderful day! 🙂

  8. I love it… the metaphor and red of food is simply stunning.. the burns the pain…

    Perhaps because my father
    did not know
    there’s already been
    at least a thousand things
    that made me cry.

    What tears are the to dry first…?

    • Thank you, Bjorn!
      The tears that dried first? I would not know, to me all of them are still very wet. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in an unpleasant way; it makes me think of the Pagan chant:”We all come from the Goddess, and to her we shall return, like a drop of rain, falling to the ocean.”. I guess I am that drop of rain 😀

  9. […] with ‘D’: A Doha* – A READING WRITER 42. Take-Out Blues – Another Fearless Year 43. Szechuan Chicken – color me in cyanide and cherry 44. NaPoWriMo Day 6 – A View To A Quill 45. Day 6: NaPoWriMo – I Have A Bone To Pick […]

  10. Yet I still don’t understand how you eat it…I know you love it, and I get surprised yet every time how you eat so spicy food…

    • I like the way my mouth burns for hours after that, and seeing I eat spicy food since I am a toddler, the rest of my body likes it too. It is also, as you know, the only way to eat food without having horrible stomach acid :/

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