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I was raised in endless songket voices,
hornbill clatter, gibbonsong, storms
and durian fall. None have followed
me here, the city with a jagged quiet
habitually quenching itself on my sleep.
Don’t worry

your lonely heart, no other insomniac
notices me in the neighbourhood
Kwik Dobi, open 24 hours. I have my ways,
and never a mood to weave conversation
with physicals. If I close my eyes
and drift

on the slosh and throb, damp slop
of garments midwived from steel drums,
the mutterings of sunburned hearts
in tongues only I could touch,

I’m not so far from home.
I could be home.



May Chong (@maysays on Twitter) is a Malaysian poet and speculative writer, with previous work featured in Eye to the Telescope, Anathema Magazine, Apparition Literary, and Fantasy Magazine. Her poetry has also been nominated twice for the SFPA's Rhysling Award. Away from the keyboard, she enjoys birdwatching, spoken word, video games, and the worst possible puns.
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9 Dec 2024

The garage turned T-shirt shack hadn’t always been right on the bay, but erosion never stopped and the sea never slept.
the past is angry for being forgotten.
gravity ropes a shark upside down as if destined for hanging.
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