Nutshell Kingdom: Monsoon
2008
Poverty is like the rain
That rots the food
And warps the wood
When it lasts too long.
I boil the rice; you chop the vegetables.
Sound of a fan:
Steam rotates round the kitchen.
Gleaming, you have not smiled at me today.
Tired of being nothing in a world of things,
I have made a place that doesn't exist.
There we will slip into the trees.
