Poet, Faye Ng Yu Ci

Monday Morning

pulled by a filament of birdsong,

emerge into an open morning

breaking past the surface of sleep.

adjust your eyes to light, flowing in 

past the walls and pooling around

your ankles, nudging your spine

down again but resist the impulse.

tune in to the acoustics of life

happening outside your window:

a bulbul nose-dives before

scooping up again, calling; 

a squirrel leaps from one branch 

to another, scattering greens.

the tucked-in blooms of hibiscus

from last night burst open again.

swing your legs down from the bed

and go into the garden; the day’s 

work is just beginning.

Constants

the taxi driver does not pronounce 

my name correctly. he smiles and 

waves goodbye when I alight, holds 

our stories close in conversation.

soon, we become strangers again.

the rain leaves teeth marks on the 

stained glass windows of the cathedral,

the candles lighting the hall with 

a scented hallowing, the pigeons

outside picking on wet pavements.

the mynahs call out to each other 

under the puncture of stars, just 

beginning to peek out as the dusk 

hunkers to night, their wing breadths 

silhouettes against the sky.

the coffeeshop uncles lounge with 

their feet propped up on round tables, 

their youth returned in the evenings 

to them as their palms fold around

beer bottles, eyes on a football game.

the teacher swallows the last 

consonants of her words. her students 

struggle to make out the names of 

rivers and ravines in her accent’s footfalls, 

doodle up a map of their own geography.

Poet, Faye Ng Yu Ci

Faye Ng Yu Ci resides in Singapore, putting frames of light into photographs and verse. Her poems have appeared in Raven Chronicles, Bookends Review, and Cha: An Asian Literary Journal.

About the contributor

Faye Ng Yu Ci resides in Singapore, putting frames of light into photographs and verse. Her poems have appeared in Raven Chronicles, Bookends Review, and Cha: An Asian Literary Journal.

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1 COMMENT

  1. Faye Ng Yu Ci’s poem Monday Morning sets me spinning with her use of active verbs; shaking me awake to how to make a poem go running into my imagination.

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