Eating bombs

Mouth tasting shrapnel

In sinigang. The blush of

Tomatoes and blood,

Rich, sour, iron tang.

To love life is to tongue

Detonation.

To devour grief, instead of it

Devouring me.

So I simmer bomb with tamarind,

Kangkong leaves with ephemera,

A time-bound meal.

I am neither pain nor past.

I am explosions.