Poetry Life & Times December 2001 Continued:

Poetry By Christina Sng

See Main Page for biography.

Index of poems:

  1. Confession - originally appeared in frisson:disconcerting verse, and recently again in Black Petals. An early poem.

  2. The Path - originally published in Tapestry. It also came in first for the Tapestry Poetry Contest.

  3. Broken - originally appeared in The Journal (UK). The second literary poem Christina sold after some advice from the editor for revision.

  4. Cocoon - originally appeared in The Edge: Tales of Suspense. Christina's first Featured Poet slot ever.

  5. Dawn of the Shapeshifters - originally appeared in Mooreeffoc.

© 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.

© 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.

© 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.

© 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.

© 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.

© 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.

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