At The Door by Wong Phui Nam

At the Door

By WONG PHUI NAM

Mother, why did you let
the poison seep down,
blacken leaf and stem
from overhead course down the roots
to pinch and disarrange
the bulging knob
that was to find its shape
to be my head?

Why did you let
the poison seep through,
befoul the streams that join together,
from beneath well up as spoilt blood
to stain and soften
the hooked tail
that was to lose itself
for the forked ends of my limbs?

Did you not sense me,
image my face, my dumb form
before I melted back
into the glistening bunched gel,
red grapes shot thick with ash,
as I, expelled,
made my way out in my sac
filming over so soon with death?

Mother, tell me about your world.
Tell me if you found
the light of day so harsh,
the sight of all things
intrude with such sharp anxieties
upon your heart
and in the night, in sleep,
if you stumbled upon such upheavals,
your dreams could not connect
and you would let your hand to smudge
such traceries, filaments through which,
delicate and sure as crystals forming,
I was to emerge;
let your hand
disturb where no disturbances should -
random places, clear springs of life.

(one of my favourite poems since Form 4.. A classic.)