what am i to do with these clams
heaped in this steaming broth of
soy butter? i have asked this
question so many times over
the last hour. they, in their large
bowl, have now sat too long. i can see
a thin layer of fat filming over
it all, each grey shell swelling into soup.
if only, either of us had
said something, before
you left. if only. then maybe
these clams would not go
to waste. would that you had taken it
along with the rest of your things.
Rachel Kuanneng Lee writes poetry. Her work appears in or is forthcoming at Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, The Tiger Moth Review, wildness, and the Live Canon 2020 Anthology. She is a Brooklyn Poets Fellow. She is also co-founder of a data science startup and hopes that someday, she might be able to make a coherent narrative out of her career choices, even if today is not quite that day. You can find her online at rachel-lee.me.