Juanita, dead in the morning like this.
I raise the machete-
what I take from the earth, I give back-
and cut off her feet.
I lift the body and carry it to the wagon,
where I load the cane to sell in the village.
Whoever tastes my woman in his candy, his cake,
tastes something sweeter than this sugar cane;
it is grief.
If you eat too much of it, you want more,
you can never get enough.
Written by Ai (1947-2010)
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