Ghazal Across a Series of Construction Lines Marked A’ Through G’
Shou Jie Eng
Cut window mouths. Double-paned and sashing, in turn.
As if an assembly of glass and aluminium could return
life to material things. Yet when you draw a cut across
the bed, such material dreams clad in softwoods return.
Cold-proofed dough. Countertop waiting for morning.
Half-cupped, addressing the backsplash. They too return.
Leaning on the maple block. Lined by cuts, split with
years of sanding. Marked—as they would!—in turn
by the sounds of beloveds. On steps. Removing their shoes.
Reaching for the banister. See, there, in the crooked return,
all the uncut marks that soft tissue can leave on bone.
So consider: as you draw your references, try to return
to that cut window. The way your lines turn dimensional.
Call them carriage house. An apartment, even. A mood. Return.
