Second Generation Ars Poetica

My mother wanted me to stop sucking my thumb. I did not stop

on the nights she sliced the tips of red Thai chilies and rubbed them

on my hands. Juice stung my knuckles. Small yellow seeds burned.

It never occurred to me to stop doing what I wanted to do.

I adjusted to the temperature of my mouth. I sucked and panted

from the heat of the pepper. I sucked and stuck out my tongue for air.