In Defense of Poverty
       

We lost our way in that forgotten city.
There was a trail of blood
on the sidewalk: three little drops
every few feet, browned by cold hours.
Probably from a man, now dead
or perhaps—just resting
in one of the city's hollowed churches.
We decided to follow the remnants
of this wounded stranger
because wouldn't the dying know best
the way into light?

At home, we curled in front
of the oven's mouth. So much warmth
flowed across our bodies, as we lay
for hours, listening to the rats
housed in the broken heater, their tails
tapping the night into music.
Darling, in that absolute darkness,
why did you try to hide it, when I knew,
by the way your finger twitched
inside my palm, that you were smiling?

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Copyright © 2011 Ocean Vuong All rights reserved
from Burnings
Sibling Rivalry Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission