Qamar Firdaus Saini
Issue 1: RISE, July 2023
ham ham squeaks to let the night in.
his hind leg’s upright, body pulled
above the horizontal, wheel spinning,
gathering the dark.
see how it washes and bogs this room.
i lie. my body a spindle,
our memories
of seattle spooling –
the park at kirkland, molly moon’s
and the raking queues,
ice-cream melting
on your collar.
we leave on tracks of never-ending light, a sun
dried with auburn leaves.
the trees steer us into sunset hills,
morning dew necking the stems.
this is the space where lavender blooms
and repels the mosquitoes nightly,
where grandma rests
and dreams she is still.
your eyes close. i hear the murmur
of a heart slowing, my name
springing from your lips. yes, i am the one
who draws the blinds each morning, who wakes
besides your grand-daughter. i promise
to shelter her skin from the singaporean sun,
my body a bolster for sleep.
we say a prayer for rain,
my hands
abstracting these weeds.
nai nai, zou san.
the cantonese reflects off the mound.
ngo oi lei it is time,
i hear the wheel slowing,
ham ham spinning. a tunnel,
a light.
Qamar Firdaus Saini is in the public service and is especially fond of Explosions in the Sky. He writes to remember. His recent poems are in Cordite Poetry Review, QLRS, and other anthologies by Singapore-based presses, and in works commissioned by National Gallery Singapore and the Singapore Art Museum, among others. He was a volunteer organiser for Sing Lit Station’s Manuscript Bootcamp, and is currently a member of ATOM, a writing collective.