Written by David Wong Hsien Min, this poem was first published in For The End Comes Reaching, a meditation on the ineffable sense of loss that accompanies each having. Through the death of his father, a son apprehends other deaths and finds each manifestation inevitable, yet enclosed with possibility; violence bears love and is borne of it, guilt seeds redemption, and faith is found within apostasy. What emerges are poems that bear witness to the alchemy of human experience.

as to your skin

by David Wong Hsien Min

Your face opens on the inside of my palm.
Your eyes are dim mirrors;
I do not see the war hidden behind their glass.
Now, you are trying to recall

how to remember me.
I say nevermind into your cuticles;
they pull your fingers
over mine.

Last week, you said there were men
listening from behind the walls;
do not be afraid.

There are no walls, only windows
and time with which
to gaze.