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Christian Yeo

Passover (Sook Ching)

I rescue ye ye like all the other
boys: sprint by the cover of
night, and then jump into the
pits, rummaging beneath

the bodies till I find the ones who
knew to fall in ramrod straight,
broken cheekbones and shut eyes
slowing their breaths to cicada

humming. I find them dreaming beneath
their friends, skin shredded to ribbons
beneath wetness and canopy, boneshard
powdering faces before their funerals.

Before I drag ye ye out I muddy his toes
with the balls of my feet, mark him as
the survivor of an awful grace, clean
off the evidence of my mission field.

I want to paint now the way he lays still
as a Fan Ho object, half his ribcage out
of frame, the sloping of his shoulders
hidden by porcelain sockets like wires.

In the dark humidity neither of us
are free; I place my ear to the
sound of his breath, press my face
to his till neither of us can see.

Disorganised Religion

Multi-ethnic church in
one-computer service:

only later did I realise
the picture we presented,

accents mingling like lunch
after service, cultures folded

over skins. We pray,
sing in right angle shadows,

creeks of light forked
by potted ferns.

➥ Bio