Sonnet – 阿嬷’s flat (my grandmother’s flat)
is the plainest along the corridor
paint-stained doorsteps (the work of those ah longs
from light years ago) its dear scar of war
slowly fading; still it truly belongs
inside, the peeling sofa bears ink scars,
one for every homework-shaped battle toiled
those were evenings of graphite model bars,
wafting 四神汤1, dutifully boiled
dinner, a rigged game that favoured my loss
last at the table, soon going insane
she’d shuffle over, take my plate, toss
away her efforts so “papa won’t cane”
her flat lingers with unspoken memories
disquiet no longer; in its place is peace
1 Chinese herbal soup
Avril Sng (class of 2027) occasionally tries venturing out into other writing genres, but always finds herself returning to realism.
She derives her inspiration from long evening runs accompanied by her own wandering thoughts.