early is the godforsaken night

Yap Xin Yi

my mother kills the light 

and the last vestiges of the storm 

wink 

out of existence.

a thousand tears 

are aglow on my window,

unyielding, suspended 

in possibility.

she kisses and leaves 

softly, shutting in

a world holding its breath 

in the suburban night and—

it’s loud.

I imagine pushing past glass, 

screaming into the deep, unfathomable sky:

glorious life! abject darkness! 

birds tossed by the winds!

how do we outlive storms and forget 

their beauty in the same breath?

how can we live so quietly

after heaven wrecks chaos?

I’m wide, wide awake. 

so I fill my breaths 

for this moment, so very small

the early hours, so very old

and the earth, so very heavy 

(heavier, with each thought I weigh)

open these eyes.

the silvery stars are ablaze 

and the night awaits.