Yim Tan Lisa Wong

She pulls the Brita from the side
Of her refrigerator door
Unhinging thirst 
The world on its tilted axis yawns
Draws dregs through a tap
Suctions rosemary and thyme
infused whispers from the back 
of her eglantine throat

I can sense her squeeze my numb hand
All fingers
Wait to break loose
Gnaw at steel locks
Seal the windows to the house

One by One, a conveyor belt of hunger,
We stream to the door
Open it and escape the light free
Where there is nothing else to eat
But milk, margarine, choco milk, jam
Vinegary hot sauce, and frozen fruit salad.

The sugary water sticks to its tin
Now in some rubbish dump
We'll never see.  Snow
Calls - flakes of ice fence the skin
And flesh in seeds introverted

I stand back from the mesh screen
Watch the world slip on its own clumsy feet
In downward diagonal blisters
And I fold, a house of bent sticky cards
Crying medicated icicles.

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