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Death for Dinner

In the midst of a dinner so rare. I can’t recall the dish we had.

We were talking about death and you were crying. I just sat still, like watching a melancholic drama I couldn’t make sense of the plot.

The wrinkle on your forehead, strands of grey hair tucked behind your ear, the vein on your skinny palm, all of you looked like glitching pixels behind the screen I’ll switch off soon. Everybody knows I’m bored of this episode yet they keep replaying it over and over.


Whose heart will stop beating first? Who’s gonna do what on whose dead body? Who will have the longer breath in life? Who’s going to have things left to regret?


Who is it, Ma? Who is it, dearest daughter?


I’m sorry that I don’t know whether I am.

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