L Kiew

 

Sunday, Aberdeen

Waking from our final raucous night,
there are seagulls, the aftermath of gin, sharp
shafts of light scraping across the floor
and here I am, shipwrecked,
strand-strewn, flotsam
sicked up from the seabed.

Queasily the waves heave, hurling
over Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday; Thursday
I practise my scales, narrowing
the vowels at the passagio.
Songs freeze at forty below.

Friday, Saturday, I buy
the rain hat I was looking for;
it flops like a wet cod fillet.
At five, the North Sea weeps gold;
what remains is granite, the blues
and, silver-cold, the Sunday horizon –

 

 

A chinese-malaysian living in London,  L Kiew earns her living as an accountant. She has completed a part-time MSc in Creative Writing and Literary Studies at Edinburgh University and had poems published recently in Butcher’s Dog, Obsessed with Pipework, and Tears in the Fence.

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