BROWSE Columns
✕
pencils within green tartan case
in fathomless hibernation
graphite doomed three decades,
cursing my new detritus:
used 6B stub, artist’s eraser
odd souvenir rollerball –
overflowing, split open
the books in my guts
churn torment wraith
unalive, undead
while the outside
jerks this meatcase
shoves drains sears with
charred bouquet of life
driving off after filthy lucre
yawning, monsoon
bucketing down, brake lights
aflame through wet haze;
breakfast, milk, light bulbs, flowers, check deposit
infinite toil before I am
unshackled
stories within me
slumber on
like the rest of the house now;
I seal old stationery
into new grey case,
keeping one pencil free
writing one dream
into the living.
Ping Yi writes poetry, short fiction and creative nonfiction, after a three-decade detour in public service. His work has appeared in La Piccioletta Barca, Orbis (nominated for Forward Prize), Litro (Editor’s Pick), The Stony Thursday Book, London Grip, StepAway, Vita Poetica and Eclectica, and is forthcoming in The High Window, The Bournemouth Writing Prize Anthology and The Bangalore Review. Ping Yi lives in Singapore with his spouse and their son.
