FREE VERSE Poem: Papaya Salad, by An Hoang

The pitter-patter
of drops splatters as we
walk through the night
market. Our last dance under
twilight’s gentle wane,
asynchronous like the rhythm
of the rain.

The torrent acidic, if not bitter,
on the hiss of concrete. Shards of
sapphire reflect the ambient glow.
June bugs aflutter, unsheltered. A
naked shiver in the cold caress. The
earth unfolds, a quiet puzzle. The
hum of humidity holds back.

The deluge has the courage to say
what our eyes don’t. We feign
ignorance, splashing in puddles to
remind us of forgiving times.

A flash of greased sprites spark,
splitting the sunken sky. When
lightning strikes, that’s who
decides.

A tinge in your eye I cannot control.
Damp and sullen, we tread water
until we sink. A swell of evaporation
follows lingering smells of lemon
basil. Matchsticks of sweet, salty
fish sauce and sour tang.

Once sultry, now still, under
the weeping sky. The words
grow thin. The monsoon in
May is unforgiving,
unlike green papaya salad
in the rain.