Fish Sauce

An unfamiliar taste leads to an exploration of identity.

By Rachel ThomPublished 3 years ago • 1 min read

It was brown, and it stank.

Those dark, glossy drops,

Fermented and dank.

But later, that resin

Was contrary, delicious.

Gut-rumbling, lip-wetting.

Now, I’m surprised

That while cravings can’t lie, they said:

My tongue has been compromised.

Fish sauce became hunger, satiated.

Taste was the confusion

Between homesickness and happiness

For a conflicted non-native,

Here, in a place

Where all was inverted.

If we are the sums of our own convictions,

Where is space

For challenge and flexion?

I chew my food.

But until bitten, I'm the product

Of what I'd assumed.

Could I, at last, come to thank

That dark fish sauce,

Fermented and dank?

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About the Creator

Rachel Thom

I don't always loiter around South-East London. I've spent a lot of time cycle-touring in and through many countries, including Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, India, Australia, New Zealand, Myanmar, France, Portugal, and the US.

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