Eventuality

A yawning mouth opens; the subway has arrived,

Pouring, spitting people onto the platform. I step on in silence.

Nighttime;

Moths halo frantically around a solitary streetlamp,

Pavement hisses against rubber-soled shoes.

The moon dyes the brick-paved road a pallid blue.

My feet carry me to an open gate. The park within

Sways and whistles a greeting. The bench is uncomfortable

To make a bed, but I hold myself close to it nevertheless.

The coffin is wooden and too solid. The lid cannot be a lid,

Cannot, or else I am

Contained, trapped. The lid must be a door.

In my empty apartment,

One light stays on so I cannot

See the darkness as I step creakily over the threshold.

By Bernadette Ingrid Yeung