they are nothing, now.
fragments of time, name, place;
heirlooms from
that strange country:
watch,
[awarded to datuk kam u tee on the occasion of his retirement (1996]
stepping out of the airport
the wall of
wet heat and car horns, smell of
of warm sewage, dim sum,
door,
painted purple,
( brown (after the firemen came)) of
22 fairfield avenue:
sundays yorkshire pudding rising slowly in the oven; sunflowers peeking over olive green fences this week’s beano annual (1970) red cross bookshop [7 bath road, cheltenham, glos]):
slab, body, boy
a corpse for the first time,
shiver in the cold morgue -
He drew the thin plastic curtain,
“i’ll give you a moment…”.
i kissed her forehead.
i wish i knew how to say goodbye
in a language can understand?
ah kong is sat
the other side of the chessboard
from me
he tries to hide his smile
17. rxh5
“checkmate.”
i
topple my white king
set up the pieces again
bed
maricel Fiona Thomas john diana:
“but come ye ba-aack,
when summer’s in the meadow,
or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'tis i'll be he - [ah ma’s voice breaks] -aaere
in sunshine or in shadow,
[the beep is slowing down]
oh danny boy, oh danny boy…
me
sitting alone,
tonight
in front of the fire,
playing chess with myself,
trying not to win?
poem
i was eleven years old,
writing a sonnet for english
she said: “i’ve always loved the word lambent…”
“serendipity”
a cottage in cornwall where
she taught me to knit,
half-finished puzzles
mum whispered
“this might be the last time, so be nice!”
the tin kettle whispered
the rain knocked gently on the door,
asking?
poem,
the lambent sun sets tonight
when people go the things they leave behind
are memories, their tracks on our minds
Tom Kam Meadley, 11
poem,
written 10 years older
trying to remember
things he said,
or the way she laughed
or who i was.
then,
a place i had forgotten -
a thing forever lost,
a mess of names and smells
we were playing “settlers of catan”
the phone rang
my mum answered
came back in flustered
“they think this might be it...”
i rolled my eyes, annoyed more than anything
begrudgingly gettinf in the car
more phone calls
dark building rush past
the empty car park
a white room, a white curtain
the look on my father’s face.
i knew, then.