farm mart

pair of blue overalls,
half-strap firearm, pinky
fingers tangle messy.

two children and one
boston baseball cap; twice
we call out, ke yi wei ma,
hands stretched upwards
lilt backwards arching half-
creolised mouth-shapes
contouring familiarity into
the shape of a question mark.
speak English, papa says,
pull up your socks.

together we press soiled
grass – green, brown –
in smooth hands, textured
nibbles grazing nascent
offerors. mama scoops
‘brother’ up, offers him like
a burnt sacrifice to whom
will feed on his outstretched
palms. the sunset soon.

quietly we come and quietly
we will go. the next day I
read the word ‘evanescent’ in
a novel, mispronounce it,
learn to roll the ‘s’ and ‘c’
together, in quick breath.

Christian Yeo is a final-year law undergraduate at the University of Cambridge. His work can also be found in 698’s Redefinitions, Ethos Books’ This Is Not A Safety Barrier, the jfa human rights journal, and the Quarterly Literary Review Singapore (forthcoming).

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