Shaun Phuah

she's there still in dreams, looking back at me from far
corners full of corn, and strawberry fields baking and
melting under the fugue state of a setting sun. talking to
me, but waking up never remembering the words only ever
still seeing the face, like a sunspot in the middle of my
vision, still there when the lids are closed. she's there still
under the bed, sleeping silent as the fruit flies begin to
congregate. fruit flies collecting still in my kitchen,
landing between my plates, hiding in the grease of a good
she's there still, in the fridge, looking back at me
when i look for food.
too lazy for grocery shopping, Malaysian blood screaming in the cold
wind. she's there still at the bus stop, in lakes, in cattails, in poutine, in
cans of condensed milk, in books read, in books to be read, in pink and
blue neon signs in toronto, in postcards from berlin, in plane tickets, and
in the green smoke i breathe at midnight.