FRAGMENTS OF A TEXTUAL BODY

Easter Sunday in Phuket, Thailand

It is Easter Sunday in Phuket, Thailand
but no one cares about the hotel’s brunch
where the only pastel eggs on Patong Beach
can be found. The potatoes slowly dry out on top,
the juice congealing around them
as with the pork chops waiting in warmers
for foreign tourists who won’t be bothered
to feast at the cost of ceding coveted poolside chaises
or foregoing diving expeditions and elephant treks
by the beach town swallowed in tsunami
just five years before, according to the guided tour
of ruble plotted along a 120-minute circuit
left unrepaired to make us all witnesses
on this mornings such as this
when oh, how the Indian Ocean waves
wave upon wave pearls of iridescent foam
toward sand-tossed sidewalks along the shore
as if professing absolution
in battering the city now resurrected, but scarred.