Leong Liew Geok (b. 1947)

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SELECTED POEMS

A Middle-Aged Woman Dissuades a Potential Lover

Three feet away, you lean against your chair:
I tense before the table’s curve,
Your eyes raking:

What’s become of your liking for opulent women?
Look hard at these wrinkles, freckles, flab,
I urge, but love-talk swirls like your cigarette smoke,
Chasing its spiral trail.
I imagine my husband talking
To a younger woman also drinking tea
And wonder about her yes or no.

It’s not that there’s too much to lose
And I’m too young for you.
The feelings I’ve dissected
Would swim and sink in yours.
In truth the spread of middle age,
Jealous of children, spouse, money, work,
Faith, hope and charity,
Fends off more than the love
That time won’t bend for.

An affair ends with ashes,
As buds and leaves burn dry;
A man returns to his wife,
A woman gives up the lie.

My tender apologies;
You are a friend.
For what I lack,
Please don’t be sad.
Perhaps we’ll meet
In another life
Not half as bad,
When I’ll be a man,
And you, a wife.

Love Is Not Enough

Not that I don't want to be 
A loving wife, a good mother.
Not that I can't sacrifice
Like all women before or after.
Not that I don't love.
Not that I can't cook.
Not that I won't please.
Not that I shan't care.

Love is not enough

At home, husband 
And children lodge,
Biting, munching, gnawing 
Bone, bloody and bare.

Dream-monsters trip me 
At work, smirking of home;
Past midnight, in a kitchen 
Emptied of sound and smell, 
Tangled in knots, 
I see him upstairs, 
Asleep, alone.

Must bearers-wearers always ache?

Hard and white, I grate 
Like half-cooked rice.

Without Ceremony

The bird I've brought home is an olive-backed 
Female sunbird, cause of death unknown.

With shovel and pitchfork
I dig to crumble earth to a V 
Shaped pit while my toddler
Struts in stiletto heels, 
Death paraded on her palm.

She lays her down to touch 
The ground with yellow breast 
Soon to be soiled by rain 
Or the avalanche of earth
Pressing the rest.

The beating shovel sends
My older daughter running
For the compost: dried grass 
In both hands, she comes 
To cover and soften the loss.

by Leong Liew Geok
from Love is Not Enough (1991)

 

SELECTED POEMS from Women Without Men (2000) >