jasmine an

Monkey doesn’t want my mercy.

I offer him a grape and he grabs

for my hand, mouth hungry

for something other than fruit.

I would take the kitchen knife

and cut his tether,

but he doesn’t trust the shine

in my eyes: reflections of red

wine, a slow, syrupy assimilation

into a world of white lies and chocolate

smothered in guilt paper.

He would rather try his own teeth

against the metal O ring at his waist

until they snap, or it snaps

and he can finally throw himself

through the grasp of his former masters

and disappear into the papaya forest

behind the house. He will not be gone,

though. At night, his small face

will press against my window

like an open palm. He is out there

waiting for me to put down the knife,

to harden my own teeth

and join him.

MONKEY REFUSES GUANYIN'S