Three New Poems by Kristine Ong Muslim

A Happy Ending

 A handful of stirred air admits nothing.

That is why sometimes our hands must

touch. These days the wreckage of our lives

has all the makings of a child's birthday cake--

soft on the inside, colorful on the outside.

Anything that can contain us can always spit us out.

I will wait for you outside that slammed door

of your new house, watch the tiny merchants of death

slink in their borrowed carapaces, listen to them

whisper, "there's the window, there's the door."

They take whatever they can and then move on.

Dream elements from parcel #1

The long lost page which contains

all the names of the lost

is dog-eared by a cat.

The kitchen sink gurgles

as it acquires a symbiotic

relationship with scum.

Dream-tender, your eyes blink.

The moment is captured

in Polaroid.

Drain Maintenance

 Balance is a matter of perspective;

that is why indecision cannot break

the fall of leftovers swept down

the tilted surface of the plate.

I scrub yesterday's ketchup marks

on the table runners. My hands

have the capacity to sift through

textures. Tap water dilutes the red

until it turns to orange. In minutes,

the stains disappear. Precision is the

first trick I have learned as a circus

performer; there are no spills around

the kitchen sink. The drain swallows

all of them with a single-note gurgle.

I am good at repetition, too; I never

forget the cathartic properties of bleach.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's interview with Kristine!