Switched-on Gutenberg Issue 16
When Hannibal says “Memory, Agent Starling,
is what I have instead of a view,” I know
what he isn’t thinking: a rainy night
in childhood, my first taste of fermented fish
and rice sautéed in oil and scallions.
Other indelibles: durian, dear jungle
cousin to the favored jackfruit
(a scientist in Thailand has found
a way to breed its singular scent from
flesh). I would not need to rinse
my hands in water poured into the half-shell,
the same way now there are square apples
that fit more easily into brown
packing boxes. I like a whiff
of succulence from what my hands
have touched, like knowing
about the scar on that shoulder;
can see the graphite surface of a lake
blurring soft and hard together—
the healed bruise and its rind
like new fruit you could feel and name.
Stroke of skin, sutured by rock-strewn water.

Box Construction (Russian Dictionary, 1917)
Copyright 2010, David Francis

Copyright 2010,  Luisa A. Igloria

Luisa A. Igloria is the author of Juan Luna's Revolver (2009 Ernest Sandeen Prize in Poetry, University of Notre Dame Press), Trill & Mordent (WordTech Editions, 2005), and eight other books. Originally from Baguio City, she is an associate professor, and currently the Director of the MFA Creative Writing Program at Old Dominion University.

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