A new poem by by Jiaqiao Liu.

cabbage rolls

cut out the hard core
pile up stalks, bin later.
one, two long lines
mimic Dani before they ran
to stir the marinara
Sally stopped stirring. one, two
chopping board burnt
with a perfect spiral
artfully off-centre.
you are good at mimcry.
last midnight, turning
all your senses
towards the melodic line
lyrics free-floating and filling with colour
then, breathlessly to a stranger
I don’t know this song! just trust
in the song’s soaring
and predictable structure
and in empty soju shotglasses.
tonight, there is no exact process.
work with what you get.
with the way each leaf grew
and in growing, found a new
way to hold a hard heart.
stiff curve insisted smooth
by water, boneless, but there’s still
some give there. take
a limp membrane, veins
like yours, curious hands
packing down rice, mushrooms,
spices, including a mix from Dani’s
chaotic bitch of a mother, we think
there’s paprika in there somewhere
but it makes everything delicious
so have a little faith. Dani’s back,
scooping filling into a little
sausage roll situation, tying
a stray strip of cabbage
to hold the ends. improvising!
Sally folds a samosa, nestles
it right in there, in the white
perfectly-sized baking dish.
like a family of cats, they’ll
hold each other in place.