Alvin Pang (b. 1972)
SELECTED POEMS
What It Is Like to Go Blind Slowly
What it is like. To go blind slowly.
Even black holes let glimmers out: like the ghosts of signal, fugacious, dubitable.
They’re calling a name at the nurse’s station: is it yours? That’s just the brain dreaming it is whole.
Sometimes the switches snap from use. Sometimes the damp gets in, or rats (ha!) chew up the circuitry and before you know it you’ve gone and ruined someone’s retirement.
The stew a little less salty, every time. Sea stinging a little less, becoming more horizontal, more cloud.
i did not notice the edge of the glass, it was suddenly there, like bad news in the mail. Like a phone call after midnight.
A faint tea scent, like distant lips. The sun with a headcold come to collect.
Not enough to take home in a bag: finish it here, or get some help. Nobody is going to stop being happy just because you broke your eggs.
It gets night earlier and stays there.
Muffled laughter, but with photons. The pillowy underneaths of blankets. Tree bark scraped off so the sap dries out.
Did you touch me or did the feather of a crow? Speaking louder or more slowly doesn’t help, you know.
Be thankful for the rest of the cutlery drawer. The stench of roses.
Get your garden ready before the gate closes.
by Alvin Pang
from Uninterrupted Time (2019)
