I wanted to write a poem
about this ache, this loss, the way
my body still strains towards the
sun in the wake of your absence,
thirsty for the light in your eyes.
The empty drawers, the missing
toothbrush. How I curled up on your
side of the bed and tried to befriend
this grief. How everything tastes like
salt without your honeyed tongue.
How I called the answering
machine just to let the sound of
your voice, distant in some other
untouched world, erase the slam of
the door that echoed for days.
How the truth is there isn’t
anything poetic about this.
Ang Shuang is a law student living in Singapore. Her works have been seen on berlin-artparasites and The Rising Phoenix Review.