Poetry, Meagan Tam
I swear to God I’ve always known.
Sun setting, clay setting into certainties,
parts of my heart whose names
I can’t ever remember—calcifying,
the night sky a fresh, bloody split
between sky and sea. Now she prays
to the cracks in the ceiling. The drip-drip
of the dehumidifier’s grand crescendo,
a simmering shoreline, some Messiah
wading from the depths, closer now,
closer still, I say! some Messiah you are.
Have you come for me? Have you come to spit me out
from the bluest flames of Hell? Swallow
the cooling coals from between my teeth?
She waits for you, you know? Sits on the mountainside in the pouring rain
and waits the way she was told for the heavens to extend twisting stalks,
forking, scooping her out the next vast dark body of water. The wet mud malleable, fleshy like sin.
Meagan is a student and writer from Hong Kong. Find her on Instagram @m34gan