Kimberley Chia: “Requiem for Leaving”
Tracing the perimeter of where I left you is a dog, arched
and whimpering. Pacing in half time, already finding
new suns to chase. Wrenching pit out of gut.
Prying itself apart. In this, the mimosa learns to relive:
leaves unfurl toward sky. Light descends from stem
and arrives in the dog’s jaw. It is dashing the whole
way home. When I say I cannot love you it is not
an invitation; do not mistake emptiness for space.
In the apartment there is a box, and in it croons
beautiful things. Ticket stubs and t-shirts, all whole
and undecayed. There will always be something
singing our song. Listen, I am always breaking things
in this lifetime. Let us leave this one unscathed: flee
the city before the eruption, before ash prints
our mark onto the walls. Let us not stay. To do so
would unmake us raw. Would be to carry an egg
in the dog’s mouth, yolk begging to burst into day.
Kimberley Chia (she/her) is a Singaporean poet and movement-maker who creates as an act of tenderness. Her work has been published in ANMLY, Sine Theta Magazine and Cutbow Quarterly, among others, and she has performed in various spoken word events in Singapore and France. Apart from writing, she is a firm believer in contemporary dance and large bowls of soup.
