THE SILENT CANYON
MIN LIM
Wakidi, Ngarai Sianok, c.1940s
In days leading to the war, he did not paint or
speak, ate only tapioca plucked from the valley's
throat. He slept on floorboards by the window,
watched his wife recast into body, into mountain,
into a painting by the moonlight. The first to
leave was his neighbour, a boy who found a
bottle by the stream, and in it uncorked all his
untouched years. He went to the river to fish,
found the boy instead, bullet in his back of head.
So soon, for the village to come to anger. On
good days he brushes his wife into a tree, her left
cheek
leaning onto palm. On good days the boy stands
by the bark, laughter disarming
his throat like a rifle. The enemy of the people,
the enemy of the people is - The
gorge comes alight when
swaddled with sunset; a river
steadies itself homewards. What
must the land say to dissuade a
rifle? What must he paint to
forget his wife?
Without answers, he leans into the cheek of
the mountain with a bottle and an easel,
becomes a shape in his own horizon,
and waits for gunfire to ripen the sky.
In days leading to the war, he did not paint or
speak, ate only tapioca plucked from the valley's
throat. He slept on floorboards by the window,
watched his wife recast into body, into mountain,
into a painting by the moonlight. The first to
leave was his neighbour, a boy who found a
bottle by the stream, and in it uncorked all his
untouched years. He went to the river to fish,
found the boy instead, bullet in his back of head.
So soon, for the village to come to anger. On
good days he brushes his wife into a tree, her left
cheek
leaning onto palm. On good days the boy stands
by the bark, laughter disarming
his throat like a rifle. The enemy of the people,
the enemy of the people is - The
gorge comes alight when
swaddled with sunset; a river
steadies itself homewards. What
must the land say to dissuade a
rifle? What must he paint to
forget his wife?
Without answers, he leans into the cheek of
the mountain with a bottle and an easel,
becomes a shape in his own horizon,
and waits for gunfire to ripen the sky.
Min is a graphic designer and aspiring writer, currently at Yale-NUS College. She is the winner of the National Poetry Competition 2016. Her works have appeared in The New Paper, OF ZOOS, and SingPoWriMo 2016, amongst others. She writes at: http://minlim.com
