no it’s not what you think it is; not batter rolled

in a tight embrace every lunar new year

(but you hear the lid slipping off already, so it could be).

it’s adding the clock and weather apps as widgets

(go to bed, wear extra layers, you know we can’t take the cold).

it’s receiving a package with contents half

the price of its postage, unfamiliar address scrawled in a familiar hand.

it’s chiding (“well, you can never buy what i’ve 

bought for you”, you’d reply). it’s bouncing between languages

like a gymnast at a trampoline park, seemingly a misfit

but gliding through the air with ease 

(you reckon you could be supergirl).

it’s the street lights on every corner

warming up every stray kitty who feels

like snoozing under the spotlight

(safer that way). it’s the fragment

of a poem sitting in an untitled document, waiting

to be unearthed and to revel in its unassuming honesty.

it’s anticipating what’s coming, marking

buildings with memory instead of fact (see you by the dragon?).

to all singaporeans, welcome home

∎

Words by Kengyu Lai. Art by Faye Song.