prose & poetry by chia


In the porch / the wind whispers in our language three years ago / but in your cruel way, stole its voice. Remnants of carbon dioxide / remain latched on my right ear. / We sit at the dinner table, skipped lunch altogether. / Something moved within the walls / but I’ve witnessed it once in March thirty-nine months ago. / Nothing to worry, must not fuss / I screamed and you sipped your wine / quietly. / Dirty martinis all over the floor / and I’d rather step on the glass shards than speak to you / watch my feet bleed in rapid flow / scratch my throat with fishbone. / Clean up, do the dishes, off to bed. / Where is my calendar? / I will keep adoring you, until I’ve run out of pain to kill.