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Filial Piety

January 2, 2009

HE: When I walked out my door, I saw the abandoned buildings.

SHE: Even the mailboxes were ripped out, so nobody could write, even if anybody cared to write anybody here ever again.

HE: I heard that parents hid food from their teenage children. At times of hunger, a loaf of bread is better than a thousand year old name.

SHE: You cannot turn nature on its head, and search through your pearls for an oyster or grow meat on fishbone comb.

HE: The telephone lines were good only for crows to perch on. Then we ate all the crows.

SHE: When there was nothing else to eat, the old volunteered their fingers.

HE: They said they needed them no more, with nothing to pick up and put to their lips.

SHE: When we went to cook them, we discovered that our children had eaten all the wood we might burn and chewed our iron pots into pieces.

HE: Our children had grown teeth that could crunch bone.

SHE: My daughter cried, “Eat your father. Grow fat on your father so we can eat you.”

by Tammy Ho Lai-ming and Reid Mitchell

Reading by Dave Bonta and Beth Adams – Download the MP3

  1. January 3, 2009 at 12:50 pm

    I really enjoyed this, the children’s teeth biting through iron, the old offering their fingers, no oyster inside a pearl, the great ending, an ending both funny (in a gothic sot of way) and not funny (in a Donner Pass sort of way) but somehow perfect.

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