You will stumble on the words of prayers
as if the short rope of your faith
was hindered by knots,
as if religion was a field
with landmines scattered across.
Cultural Stakes — k.a.g
Fetal and feral, we curl
in our beds,
Fetal and feral, we drink
in the dusk,
hands damp with loam.
Old cruses
for sadness
don't work anymore —
— Sally Wen Mao, from "The Azalea Eaters,"