the flowers sit by the window sill

drinking in the same square of sunlight as

the day you left.

 

you didn’t leave so much as

grow still, yellow-gold of petals

haemorrhaging onto pristine glass;

a bud growing in reverse,

shuttered visage

impenetrable as a mirror’s surface.

 

if only i could have stemmed

the flow of jaundiced acrimony

or held together our broken stalks;

now even Van Gogh couldn’t have

breathed the sun into you (into us) again.

 

and so, the sunlight peeked its head in again today

but you’ve gone away

some days i sit by the window sill;

my dear friend, i do miss you

still

 

spwmday7 art piece

Still Life by Qwek Wee Chiew, c.1970s; oil on canvas (National Gallery Singapore)

 

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