Where do you go when your house is on fire?


Christian Yeo

Issue 1: RISE, July 2023


i.

Ma says the shoe is always on the wrong foot
with me. I have been trying to unravel this
for a long time. Isn’t it the other foot? I say.
Somewhere outside, a crow is shot from the sky.

I dislike the violence of aphorisms—
dislike their arrogance, dislike their truth.
Find them unnecessary, even dangerous.
Keeled over contemplating something like
we have children to have something to love, or,
the world is ending because we wanted it to.

This is the pool of light created
for the purposes of this exercise, how
the Mediterranean curls in on itself like a cat
gone to sleep but not to death.
A rockhole fills with water, fills with spray,
fills with dread for the interminable day.

Where you lay your head becomes your home.
So it was that the art forms resembled gravestones.

There are no more raptors—not as ciphers, simply as raptors.


ii.

You wake beside world peace.
It’s light streaming through the blinds
and the hours are long and the day is
getting away from you again.
Did it happen or was it in the dream
where you were an activist?

In the dream we started the experiment when
the albizias began to blur, stalwarts blending
into soundwaves. The figs had fallen
directionless—so we were adrift, so we were
alive, still amidst a terrible nowness.

I no longer want the sensation of flickering,
how the crow is temporary and so does not need
to live with itself for too long.
In the absence of precedent, allow me to love
you and believe in the world.

iii.

Within poems I can be untrue.
I can run my hands along the smooth inside
surface, implicate myself too little.
It’s easy, this business of riding on instincts,
lapping up ambiguity like salvation.


Earlier in the years we’d have gotten somewhere
inverting Ashbery, inspired something better
than ideas. I wouldn’t have written poems
unable to escape poetry, in place of interceding
for mortality. We are no longer talking of shoes,
or feet, but we are still talking of wrongs.

Christian is a writer and actor based in Singapore. He has been featured notably in The Mays and Gaudy Boy’s New Singapore Poetries, among many others, and won or placed for a number of prizes including the Bridport Prize. Find him at christianyeo.com.