Chrystal Ho, Singapore
Walking Home
A hedge demarcates a point on the road, lengthwise, that cannot be crossed.
A lone frangipani tree stretching skyward: the edge of the road, or the infinite space between a public walkway and private property.
The maturity of an estate may be gauged not by the trunk of its largest tree, but the lushness of its hanging creepers, a telltale bird’s nest fern.
A border of limp sparrow mango trees, planted equidistant: impending deforestation.
In a past life, the ixora bush was a tree with luscious clusters of fiery blooms.
An ixora bush in full bloom: newly delivered from the nursery.
Summer Poem
For a girl of the tropics, a summer poem
on a Greek island is an everyday poem.
Every day, the birds will gather
on the electrical wiring by the terrace
to chitter sweet nothings and fly away
before everyone else is awake,
leaving only their song behind for breakfast.
Every day the sky is blue enough
to make a pair of sailor’s pants for a child sailor,
a petite one, or a giant sailor whose stride
is so large she will pass Mount Athos
in a mere matter of steps and even when it isn’t,
the roaring grey downpour will first release
the familiar stench of asphalt before
the fleeting sweetness of damp earth.
Every day on this island is a summer poem,
even when the trees are scorched bald
as though they’ve come too close to the sun.
Every day, where I am surrounded by sunscreen
and water, but cannot smell the coconuts.
Chrystal Ho is a writer from Singapore who works with poetry and non-fiction. Her work has previously been published in The Tiger Moth Review, PR&TA Journal, and The Hawker, amongst others. A former Global Writing & Speaking Fellow at NYU Shanghai, she is currently a Creative Resident at the National Library of Singapore.