Here is where we leave everything on the table — everything we need to say before we go.
Picture this: Two editors turned buddies, sitting on barstools, nursing the last traces of our margaritas and two years worth of memories. Semisonic’s “Closing Time” comes through the speakers and we huddle closer to murmur thank yous and goodbyes.
Read MoreI often think of poets as sculptors, making interesting shapes out of raw clay. Through a mix of intellect and instinct, their poems can manifest in a medley of forms - whether it is a poem with such precise metric verse as to resemble a perfectly symmetrical bowl, or a poem written with such abandon like a Zaha Hadid installation. As poetry editor of this issue, I was excited to see what kinds of poetic sculpture would come out of the thirty days of SingPoWriMo frenzy that happens each April, particularly in relation to the theme of ‘Community’.
Read MoreThere is a herd of orchestral whales
conferring under an arctic summer,
composing a new canto for a calf’s birth.
The waves dance to its mother's hum – a crescendo
broken only by a rest.
I was born, & now,
I am making up
for loss by making
things up. I awake
as a face.
i am living my life in a quarantine
sometimes i complain that it’s less than pristine
what the hell? i have to live stream virtually
i am no pewdiepie nor h3h3
insecure a fish out of my element
I swallow piping hot Putu piring, like always
washed down with dapao teh c
lovingly brewed in Uncle's 40 year vintage stockings
stolen from Aunty while she was not looking.
the first step to a thousand miles
of schooling starts with this;
with throttled places, registration:
deadline not to miss
i. m. Shohel Md, Anisuzzaman Md, Marimuthu
thick smoke billowing
from windows, men pouring
out, screaming, strips of cloth
Read MoreCW: Death
Our hearts, our lives, behave as mirrors;
to know thyself becomes much clearer
when glassy eyes gaze through the other
and bare our souls’ reflections.
How to understand — our opinions
are those of people we like,
more often than we’d like
to admit.
Read MoreA dog walked right into my lecture. It was huge and black. No one moves a finger. It swaggered from row to row and ate up all the chips and drank all the sodas. It sat at the back like a bouncer. I continued my lecture and the dog paid attention to what I was trying to convey in the usually noisy environment. When someone made a noise, the animal would growl at the noisy person. I had the most cooperative audience that day.
Read Morewhen a fresh memory arrives, two pizzas
exit a kiln to reach this table, seasoned with
raucous laughter and all things misheard.
perhaps it takes three pairs of ears to listen
without intent, or three petite froyos beneath
the skylight.
I've always loved the nautical satin spill
of hours just after death of night and
before the earliest buses or insomniac
bird would start to stir and squeak, for how
placidly it welcomes both stillness and din
Read MoreLook, Son!
Pay attention to the little things:
even the pink-nosed mouse
let the sun shine
be yourself
When the Earth ended again, I asked if I could become a new moon.
I already resemble a moon, I said. My skin is spotted with a million craters from accidents I can't remember. I have cragged deserts of eczema, mountains of hives.
Read MoreLife begins
as a single speck of dust
when two worlds collide and collude
put together for generational purpose
even at 8am the hospital
is crowded. i'm not used
to the morning universe, the idea
of people living full lives before
the clock strikes nine.
Read Morethe things i could tell you about tamagotchi would fit in a very small book
the size of a tamagotchi. things you might
already know: they hatch, they poop, they eat.
I always wonder when you will expire. walls
melding into scaffolding, trading tangerine for
ice rinks and navigation night-
mares of northpoint proportion.
often you don’t need to speak.
you’re good at letting the route
do the talking. look, it seems
to say, no matter what happens
the sun still spills its yolk
into the sea