ISSN 1551-8086
return to home search for a contributing writer

seach for poems by title

archive of previous issues submissions information mailing list online store links to other interesting sites contact us  
  August 2010
volume 8 number 2
-table of contents-
 
  home   (archived)
 
  featured poets
  John Grey
  Tammy Ho Lai-Ming
  Lisa LaTourette
  Helen Peterson
 
  home
  poets
  poems
  archive
  submissions
  mailing list
  store
  links
  contact
 
Tammy Ho Lai-Ming August 2010
   

 

bio


    Tammy Ho Lai-Ming is a Hong Kong-born writer currently based in London, UK. She is a founding co-editor of Cha: An Asian Literary Journal. You can find out more about Ho at her blog.

Sigh Ming

   

 

The Argument

Let them think we are foolish lovers,
cuddling in a car. Moon glows but stars
are nowhere. Will you remember
to keep the headlights on, until daybreak be our witness.
Morning dew on glasses. How time passes.

Let them think we are hopeless lovers
who forget the hour of the day, the day of the week,
the week of the month until we eventually remember
the forceful fucking of the clock, the changing hues
of the sky, the thickness of socks in our shoes.
Apprehension of living in sweet stretched moments.
They are sure we’ll understand: two people are really two,
not divided one.

Let them think there’s no future in store for us,
that we are not prepared to give anything substantial.
Let them think the man cruel, the woman too much.
They know not the extent of our bonds –
yes, one piece of flesh; and all sorts of ignorance,
impracticalities, remembrances. We are in love.
What else can be expected?

Let them think we talk sweet nothings.
Shall we love a little more, sweet nothing?

copyright 2010 Tammy Ho Lai-Ming

   

 

Soliloquy of a Street Kid

- After Jonathan Mendelsohn

And so it is true.
My shoes are torn and my toes show.
I'm not worried about the toe nails:
Long, hard. They follow nature's law.

People have already noticed me.
An unwanted street decoration.
I see from here where I squat
The sky is dimmed too early,
And children gather to eat ice-cream,
Their fingers chubby, neglectful, white.
I am vacant. They are full.

Listen! Are they gone? Now, the wind.
The wind is movement of air.
It is reciting something. You must believe me.
It recites people's secrets, sex, memories.
I don't want to know.

Tonight, I won't sleep, to match the stars;
And I pray for a quiet night.
Don't send me rain, don't send me men,
Don't send me rhythms or a dirty hand.
Don't.

copyright 2010 Tammy Ho Lai-Ming