Youngest Daughter Amalgamations

By Lydia Lim

stubbornness set

in a line that rises with

the sun and never dips

into the horizon. 

a pulse faintly beating

even as death

bangs on the door, raising 

a wizened grey hand

with a vice-like grip

on this last plate of fruits,

bursting at the seams. 

incense spiralling into

the distance like

the way we crack open

bottles of Fanta orange and

then leave. 乖吗¹？

乖²。

听话一点哦³。

these lines settle into

the armchair, unvaried yet

aching. 

stumbling back home

at 2a.m one night, then

hiding under the covers with

the lights turned off. ah girl

ah? tender mercy

breathes onto an uneasy 

wound. fingers clatter

on the fogged up mirror

against the toilet door. 

for what it’s worth, 

i’m sorry. we’re all sorry

until the day we die. 

slice fruits neatly against

the porcelain plate, wedges

of orange lined up against

green melon slices.  

juice trickles down a 

stubborn chin. 

¹Have you been good?

²I’ve been good. 

³Be more obedient. 

By Lydia Lim