Tan Xiang Yeow
The Beginning of The Beginning of An End
A final crease, then a gentle puff,
this origami lion can then prance and prowl
on piles of paper, shredded and fine,
above a manual, round and round
a cup of coffee, sour and chilled.
Just the harmonised movement
of an index finger and one plump thumb –
one firm pinch, just one firm pinch –
marks the beginning of the beginning
of an end.
It’s a pinch I dare not pinch.
With pink swans soaring across
its cyan skin, this lion is strange indeed.
Well, let him explain, let him purr
about how his predecessors failed,
with their broken limbs and deformed faces,
how they wasted the sun-coloured papers,
and now have a destiny in the bin:
above a rotting apple core and
the crisp foil of packaged chips.
Let him boast about his second life,
from forest to factory, then factory to flat,
from plant to paper, then paper that prowls.
Let him dream his dreams of stalking,
papery paw by paw.
And let him suffer – roar –
as one thumb and one finger hesitate.
One last pinch and this lion will be done,
ready to edge round a mass grave,
mocking paper that failed to be.
If I pinch that final pinch,
it will leap across a ravine of books
and never be mine again.
This marks the beginning of the beginning
of an end and the cyan lion is pleading so.
A Hearty Drink
Heat spikes your skin. You thirst.
You order one glass of organic juice,
Swallow, then complain it isn’t cold.
So you dig out your heart of icy stone,
That umber bitter seed.
You slide your organ into the glass.
It plops. It splatters – melting – flakes,
Turning your drink a candy-pink.
You sip and lick your lips.
It slicks down your throat.
You moan then see my face
And you offer your juice to me.
A final crease, then a gentle puff,
this origami lion can then prance and prowl
on piles of paper, shredded and fine,
above a manual, round and round
a cup of coffee, sour and chilled.
Just the harmonised movement
of an index finger and one plump thumb –
one firm pinch, just one firm pinch –
marks the beginning of the beginning
of an end.
It’s a pinch I dare not pinch.
With pink swans soaring across
its cyan skin, this lion is strange indeed.
Well, let him explain, let him purr
about how his predecessors failed,
with their broken limbs and deformed faces,
how they wasted the sun-coloured papers,
and now have a destiny in the bin:
above a rotting apple core and
the crisp foil of packaged chips.
Let him boast about his second life,
from forest to factory, then factory to flat,
from plant to paper, then paper that prowls.
Let him dream his dreams of stalking,
papery paw by paw.
And let him suffer – roar –
as one thumb and one finger hesitate.
One last pinch and this lion will be done,
ready to edge round a mass grave,
mocking paper that failed to be.
If I pinch that final pinch,
it will leap across a ravine of books
and never be mine again.
This marks the beginning of the beginning
of an end and the cyan lion is pleading so.
A Hearty Drink
Heat spikes your skin. You thirst.
You order one glass of organic juice,
Swallow, then complain it isn’t cold.
So you dig out your heart of icy stone,
That umber bitter seed.
You slide your organ into the glass.
It plops. It splatters – melting – flakes,
Turning your drink a candy-pink.
You sip and lick your lips.
It slicks down your throat.
You moan then see my face
And you offer your juice to me.
Tan Xiang Yeow's poems have appeared in The Missing Slate, I Feel The Tails of Comets, A Tapestry of Words and elsewhere. In 2014, he co-edited Red Pulse II (Ethos Books), an anthology centred on a sunny island set in the sea. He has also contributed commentaries to The Kent Ridge Common, an independent online newspapers maintained by students and alumni of the National University of Singapore. He is looking forward to his retirement which he envisions as an iteration of reading-writing-sleeping.
