Ryan Wong

The Longest Day

Sleep comes harder with one less moon
in the sky; the birds outside no-name buskers beneath
a buzzing light. In time with their crooning, 

an off-white finger traces & taps my window. Then points:
to the bathroom where water drips
from a steel faucet. Impatient, I press

my head to my pillow, my nose on a yellow stain.
Breathe in dust & earwax with each unsavory
drip. Another mess to pray over. Tonight,

I’ll dream of my mother, a bird;
the whites of her feathers bleeding into
wet tile like laundry. Tomorrow, she’ll flap her wings

uselessly as the air swirls hot & cracks. Then:
termites marching across the neighbor’s plastic lawn,
a picture of shifting silver catching the little light

left in this economy. Ma once said,
clouds are only ever the sum of their tears;
cry & you’ll be nothing interesting

to look up to. Tomorrow, I’ll sing my heart out to a bird-
blue sky. I tell myself this & almost
believe it.

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Ryan Wong is a Malaysian Chinese writer presently based in Connecticut. Their work appears in fifth wheel press, Impossible Archetype and elsewhere.