Justin Chin (1969–2015)

SELECTED POEMS

The Last

This is the last time I will be in the house I grew up in. This is 
the last time I will hear your voice. This is the last family 
portrait where everyone is present. This is the last Christmas, 
the last Christmas present, the last tub of Brylcreem 
you will get in your stocking. This is the last family dinner, 
the last acid reflux I will ever stomach. This is the last time anything

will taste this good. This is the last calibration
of my tongue; after this, every spoonful of food, every sip of drink, 
every sliver of a kiss will taste like gun-metal. This is 
the last scoop of chocolate chip ice cream I will scoop for you.
This is the last time you will see my impression of the Anopheles mosquito 
landing on skin, notice the bend in the leg, notice the precision

in my stance. This is the last time you will be offended by my dirty feet, 
the last time you will complain that I do not wash them properly. This is 
the last bout of gout. The last dental appointment. The last pill I will need 
to take. This is the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle, and now the picture 
is complete: night sky, matte black, we thought,
but there are two stars, or might they be planets, on that last piece.

This is the last time I will see my father alive. The last time you might see 
me alive. This is the last thing you saw before you fell
asleep last night, but it was not the first thing you saw when you awoke 
this morning. This is the last sunset in Paris you will see, and the last 
time I will be amazed at how a sky can be so violet 
for so long. This is your last ever coo of awe. This

is the last full day of carefree you will know. The last time I make 
the same careless mistake again. This is the last 
list I will ever make. The last one I would not adhere to.
This is the last scrap from the table. Oh, what a gluttonous feast 
we’ve missed. This is the last note in the soundtrack of your life.
There is no replay button, no encore; you will, however, learn

to live with the silence. This is the last piece to the puzzle you’ve long 
given up trying to solve. This is your last will and testament.

by Justin Chin
from Gutted (2006)

© 2006 Justin Chin, from the book Gutted. Published by Manic D Press: San Francisco. Posted with permission of the publisher.

 

SELECTED POEMS: "Narrowing" >