works by w.pham

works by william pham, 2005-present
A RECIPE FOR THE CONSTRUCTION OF AN ELIXIR OF IMMORTALITY

I will not be my mother's son / someday you will live forever
I will not be my mother's son / someday you will live forever
I will not crawl inside the darkest spaces where I can only smell the scent of burning flesh
And if I close my eyes I can smell the slices of pork arrayed on latticework and seasoned
With green onions, sugar, salt, and soy sauce, instead of all the slices of memories / someday you will live forever
That kindness was my father's work

That kindness was my father's work.

And yet I crawl inside the darkest spaces, a closet full of ancient clothes
Fit for moths more so than for a woman,
Flickering inconstant and fluorescent hovering in a kitchen
Where I can only smell the scent of burning flesh rocking gently back and forth
In a towering pot among the bones which may or may not have been my bones / someday you will live forever

And if I should make a fist and scrape my knuckles against the bitter stucco walls
Then I might see the fight in a bone, white and yellow, or I might not see at all.