For a week I went to bed
knowing she’d called
forgetting she’d left
her voice in that space
between us.
“I’m calling randomly
not knowing the time difference
ignoring where you are.”
When I was ten you bought me a piano
you played it so well
while what I wanted the most
was an old bicycle
like my brothers’.
Did you know that
the dog you got yourself
dressed up and never fed
became my best friend?
Every night I brushed off
from your broken veins and split ends
burning lies, diamonds, and secrets
that tripped me off in my sleep.
(Sabine Huynh, published in the poetry magazine Cyclamens and Swords)