to subsist on teaspoons
of measured silence is
to nourish what’s dry
after a day’s mouthful.
a dash of otis and a
little joy to season the
peeled leather off a
blank sole; intimations
of tenderness lace
each tile of an edifice
pieced and given away,
and in the hallways
the croaking thankfulness
in 80 beats a minute.
and when tools
were absent the fixings
remained the same –
wordless conversations in
the crevices of concrete
ruins, the clamminess of a
july jungle downpour, the
hesitations of an exam hall,
the aloofness of
the crawl of traffic
what was and has
always been

Jonathan B. Chan is an undergraduate at the University of Cambridge reading English. Born to a Malaysian father and Korean mother in the United States, Jonathan was raised in Singapore and sees his cultural tapestry manifest in his writing. He has recently been moved by the writing of Marilynne Robinson, Joan Didion, and Shūsaku Endō. His mind is preoccupied with questions of theology, love, and human expression.

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