On Waking by Wendy Kwok

everything i have put into hibernation
has realised that winter is yet to come;
it is closing on my heels and chasing the
summer sun into earlier afternoons, my
hands guilt and guile gliding over wasted
leaves and painted eaves without shelter.

the light is a motion movie playing in strips,
clipping the scenes i cannot grip so my heart
is insulated. but my mouth is already baited
and my core is slated for reconstruction;
the wind is cold on my tongue where resolution
dissolves her iron ill over sagging will wily with time.

you are wiping the grime so i can see your name,
your shame written on windows closed to me and
i am learning to read backwards, to bend slack words
into recognisable shapes where we have convoluted
circles without realising the one-way roads coasting
away from slain lovers are leading us right back to each other.




Wendy Kwok, Scotland