Interrogation

They asked the easy questions first,
like What is your name?
So I told them,
but they weren’t satisfied.
They wanted a different answer.
Who are you?
I hesitated, then said I didn’t know.
They laughed
and said they would torture me
if I didn’t improve.
Do you know why you are here?
Because I did something wrong,
I said. They asked me
what that was. I answered
it was because I didn’t know.
This time, they didn’t laugh.
I was more afraid
and began to tremble. You are
a poet? they asked.
I told them I didn’t know
what the word meant.
They grew angry. Suddenly,
I was calm. Their hands opened
and closed on the table.
What are your poems worth?
As much as your questions,
I replied.
Their eyes narrowed:
they would detach the skin
from my body, write
along its insides.
Do you know what we can do
to you? Yes,
I answered. And didn’t laugh.

By Cyril Wong

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