Only Child War Song
When my fiancé stomps up the aisle because I forget again
to make tea for more than one, I shout: I’m so grateful!
I’ll have it all: a sockeyed salmon, the last piece of cake,
the property deed to the house where I once grew wings
and flew down the stairs when I was five. Pop quiz:
was that true? Wrong again, please proceed to Floor Seven
of my archival hall. Memorise: I cheated on my abacus
homework, killed thirteen goldfish, sobbed when a stranger
told me not to sing. One day I’ll remember
as well as the last yeti. What was the colour
of my first tooth? What about the Himalayan snow? Please
before you go tell me the funny one again,
about the snake that came into the living room when
I was nine. There was a snake, wasn’t there? Tell me
was I eight, or five? And now the dial tone flooding
the floor like spilt milk. How will I love myself
this much? All my life?
Alison Clara Tan is a Southeast Asian writer based in London. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in fourteen poems, SUSPECT Journal, The Comstock Review, and Oyster River Pages.