Ng

Gaston Ng

Two Poems

Handphone

i. fatimah remembered feeling it vibrate, and peering through her tinted, tortoiseshell glasses at the number, but more importantly at the identity: she recalls wondering why he sent her an sms, when he could have saved 5 cents calling from the office – “i want divose. send u lawyar’s lettr soon. tell boy i go johor for bisnes. dun call me.” ii. jason takes a deep breath and taps the button to ‘create new message’. “don’t worry dear, i’m fine. 🙂 *hugssssssss!* go sleep soon k?” send? sent. he stares inaccurately at where he estimates the screen to be, unable to establish the positions of contours that form its border. he is crying. soon the phone jumps, not vibrating, but jason is – he shakes like an earthquake and yet she is probably smiling at that sms. relieved; but too careless to call; confirm. handphones are stoicism. who will know what the heart says when the translation is lost to the fingers. the more smses sent the less of a heart’s dialect we know. iii. no matter how hard i try to save special messages, they always disappear. “delete all” buttons are too close to other options. iv. this part of the poem is to remind you never to place the messages in your inbox but in a corner of your memory, safe from negligent fingers. Driving The Body At Chinablack, we celebrated His birthday. I got him drunk. Sitting beside him, Two boys on still swings, Two old men by the sea. In his stupor he sent a message: “No i notdrunk i really love you y dun you love me bak.” I offered to correct his spelling. He shifted his position a little Away from me. The other old man gets up From the pier, leaves. I sit quietly in a confusion of dancing, Wondering if this is what we do On birthdays, occupying absence With everybody else– Relying on drink As means to confession. Words can be free- Of-charge. You may love anonymously In the dark, driving the body With a naked heart; Reckless, drunk-loving.

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