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Index of poems: Confession - originally appeared in frisson:disconcerting verse, and recently again in Black Petals. An early poem. The Path - originally published in Tapestry. It also came in first for the Tapestry Poetry Contest. Broken - originally appeared in The Journal (UK). The second literary poem Christina sold after some advice from the editor for revision. Cocoon - originally appeared in The Edge: Tales of Suspense. Christina's first Featured Poet slot ever. Dawn of the Shapeshifters - originally appeared in Mooreeffoc. BROKEN © Christina Sng Just as a bowl Broken into a million pieces Cannot be put back together Neither can a dead bird Fallen from a tree Be revived back to life Nor a word Said in haste Be retrieved And love, Once betrayed Cannot ever be restored. CONFESSION © Christina Sng You have ripped out My tongue; I cannot speak. My hands speak for me, But then you ripped them out too. Your words churn ice As you speak. Snow drips From your lips. I weep Blood, listening to your confession, Wishing you had Pierced my eardrums instead. THE PATH © Christina Sng We walk the path alone, My child and I in this dark night Where the only light Emanates from stars we will not Visit in our lifetime. There is nothing but thick forest On either side. It seems we have Always walked on this path. The baby tires and I carry her, Stumbling over cobblestones, Which wedge my foot in - We fall, but there is nothing That cannot be healed. As she bites into her apple later, She asks, "Why has he gone?" How do I tell her he has taken The other path to where The magic mushrooms grow? Where the trees are bare Lending no needed shade. He chose a different path, I say. But she forgets. We walk again, Hand in hand, down the endless road, Slightly limping, but flanked By an abundance of fruit trees. COCOON © Christina Sng I'd like to stay in my cocoon For as long as I can, till Hunger cripples me and Expels me from my shell. My insides have long been Cut open and slurped up By some ravenous god. It has left the head alone, Hoping perhaps it will regenerate. The chill is paralyzing - You have known that - Yet you left me drifting In the sand dunes, Parched and dried, my skin Unfolding in the lacerating wind. When the dusk finally falls, I rustle softly as I pass you, Standing proud in the dust. DAWN OF THE SHAPESHIFTERS © Christina Sng Crouched in the corner, They almost blend into the wall. Only the irregular shadows give them away. The shapeshifters emerge in the fall When temperatures are warm Conducive to their changing form. To date, their origin is unknown. Scientists have yet to run them Through a fine-toothed comb. They move too swiftly for us to catch - We have to adjust our eyes Fast enough to find them first. No one has ever seen their true form, At least no one alive we know. So far they seem benign, darting away When they attract a curious eye, Although there's been no explanation For the nine who vanished, At the turn of a head, in plain sight. WET MARKET © Christina Sng We don't go there anymore. But as children we followed Our parents as they swept Through the dank aisles For the freshest catch. We caught them too. We knew how to pick them. Now we wind through Fluorescent-lit air-conditioned Supermarkets, gingerly poking The gills of the fish with Plastic-lined fingers, Peering to see if its eyes Are clearer than ours. Failing all, we check The price and use-by date. How quickly we forget.