Finding Home
Werner Kho
home
Werner Kho
Finding home
Werner Kho
First Edition
Copyright © 2013 Werner Kho
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author.
ISBN: 978-1-310-99821-8
Table of Contents
The permanence of black lines
Leaving
Black hole consumption
Coming home
A long distance farewell
House cleaning
Stumbling
Finding home
Spirited
Homecoming
The permanence of black lines
My mother tells me, that I will regret
getting the world tattooed on my wrists
the ink in your veins, won’t lead
you to where home is. It is a compass
telling you to settle wherever the earth
settles, but never where the sea decides
to break against the shore again and again.
The tattoo artist tells me to get some
feathers on my ankles instead
birds fly wherever their folk
fly. Even if they lose their way,
the scientists will guide them home
with a GPS and fancy monitors.
I don’t tell them that getting something
permanent
scares me, but the black lines upon
skin remind me of ECG lines, beeps
like a GPS over and over again.
Maybe, home is simply where I
know I need to breathe.
Leaving
I’ve been told to
go through the doors, doors
that have been opened wide
but seem so large they
threaten to swallow me whole
But I yearn to break out
of my sheets, elbows grazing
the surface until a hole forms
just big enough for me to
fit through in my entirety.
Black hole consumption
Black holes
they take everything in
while being absolutely
nothing
in the middle
of everything
Lost in space
consuming all that comes
without complaint.
Coming home
Rolling her hardy luggage plastered with stickers all over it at her side, she stopped in front of the gate and surveyed her surroundings. Some people around her marvelled at the scene for it was their first time, but she stood still, all too familiar with what she had left behind.
-
Ever since she had saved up the bare minimum, she made the decision to pack up and leave, and go wherever the wind would take her. She didn’t leave anything behind, but at the same time she left all that she had.
On the morning she left, she cleaned her room, making sure everything was free of dust. She wrote a simple note telling her family not to look for her and not to worry, and that was the last time she thought she would ever step foot into the house.
She decided she would go to America first, as that was where she had always wanted to go.
It felt so different when she stepped into the land of the free. It truly felt like she was free, unshackled from expectations and growing tensions she could not bear.
And so, her adventure began.
She was happy during her time in America. She found a simple motel to stay at with just the things she needed. She made friends with strangers much friendlier than the ones she had encountered before. She took pictures of all the sights so new to her. She walked wherever she could, trying to be the daring explorer and finding places even some locals didn’t know about.
Her trusty guitar and her deep melodious voice helped her to earn some money. She took a part-time job as a waitress at the diner near her motel, flirting with some of the customers along the way, but never getting serious with anybody. She knew better than to get shackled down again.
But soon, America’s charm grew weary and so she did she.
So she quit her job and checked out of her motel, not even saying goodbye to the receptionist.
And soon, she was on a plane again, travelling to another destination.
-
A year had passed since she had left and now she was in Korea, her fifth stop around the world.
Every destination of hers was filled with adventure. Her camera had seen more than some people ever would. Her luggage and guitar case were plastered with more stickers than a child’s book. But yet, she couldn’t find what she was looking for.
She had left in order to escape what was left down for her, something she could have lived with. But she was never content with what she had, and there was this constant emptiness within her that she could not fill. She thought that travelling around the world would help her find what she was looking for, but yet it had offered nothing more than some simple joys.
But one day, a letter had arrived at her motel room, something she had not seen in the entire year.
She recognised the stamps and immediately knew that it was from home.
“Home,”
It felt so strange on her tongue.
She looked at the letter with trepidation. She knew she had left no clues behind so how this letter had reached her puzzled her greatly.
Picking up the envelope gingerly, she moved her fingers over the address written on it. Only her sister would write that small and concise.
Uneasiness gripped her as she opened the envelope and slowly unfolded the letter.
Please come home. Mom doesn’t have much time left.
-
The next morning, she was on the earliest flight home.
-
She was too late by the time she had gotten back. Her mom had already passed away, the letter reached her too late.
She expected the whole world to blame her for her irresponsible behaviour. She blamed herself for her irresponsible behaviour, but finding blame would not erase her mom’s death.
Her sister was quiet the entire time and that made everything worse.
Now standing in front of her mom’s niche, she could only bow her head and think of all the times they had fought but she was always too stubborn to say sorry. She loved her mom deeply despite their differences but it was too hard for her to express it well back then.
She felt her sister’s hand around her shoulders and the tears she had held back started to drip down her cheeks.
“I was angry that I couldn’t find the courage in me to leave just like you did. I was angry that you had left me behind to take care of mom. I was so angry, but I know why you had to leave.”
She sobbed even harder, and collapsed into her sister.
And so she stopped running, stopped flying, for she had found what she was looking for all the time.
She had come home.
A long distance farewell
you are flying off
into seas where I can’t reach
through glass screens I wait.
House cleaning
House of straw, house
of brick; the vandals have
come to tear down those
walls. The windows are
smashed in, glass shards
cutting the light at angles.
Everything is debris, cut
up rocks, cut up flesh.
The remains are burned,
the ashes sifted. This has
become a
ritual to purify;
bleaching dark stains
till the whites burn your
eyes, toxic fumes to
fight the poison.
Stumbling
I.
The pen twirled within your fingers
pinned to the back of your ear
occasional cigarette with exaggerated
puffs, now lies between your lips
only filled with nicotine
burning at the ends, burning at
your lungs.
II.
Mint leaves sit at the bottom
crushed absentmindedly, stifling
heat, stifling air -
I should have asked for
mint tea instead.
III.
You’ve fallen after attempting
to walk for the fifth time
in a straight line.
The laughter echoes behind
and you scream and shout,
wiping leftovers from your chin.
You try to walk for the sixth
time and you finally succeed
but there’s no longer any
laughter behind.
Finding home
It has become
the red lips on the plane
the cracked shelf about to fall
in a bookstore across the street
the coaster with faded logos
where hands crossed
the quaint spot to watch
the deep quiet that sits within.
Spirited
Balloon rising
within you,
sandbags
thrown down
with abandon.
It’s time to float
a dandelion
blown apart
scattered,
land in
someone’s
hair, behind
their ear.
Catch a wind
catch a breeze
catch a wave
catch
yourself trying
to find
a pull,
strong enough
to bring you
down.
Homecoming
Inhale birthday candles
lighted in memory of
something forgotten.
You have been away
for too long.
Set the case on the floor,
watch it turn to ash. Your
footprints disturb the dust
settling in the cracks.
Navigating the silence
like threading water, you
are a ripple in a pool
gone cold.
It’s time to relight
the cobwebs and set
the sheets. It’s time
to come home.
About the author
Based in Singapore, Werner Kho is the author of four chapbooks, with three forthcoming in 2014. He is an avid writer who concentrates more on poetry and short stories. He chooses to focus more on writing contemporary works that are more relatable to the everyday audience. He has also been placed in the Gardens by the Bay: River of Life competition organised by The British Council for his poem "Emerald in the Sea". While he isn’t concentrating on getting his first collection of poetry out, he is trying to find ways to be as wrapped up as comfortably in a blanket as a burrito.
