INTO THE KILN/
COMING TO SINGAPORE

The kaolin clay of her young feet was shaped
And thrown into dragon embroidered kilns
In the unbearable heat she could only think
Of undoing the binds and running free

Soon the sharp pain faded into a hum
As the cacophony of her life engulfed her
And the embroidered dragons grew weary and worn
Under the weight of married life and her newborn son

Clothed in her pain and armed with her pride
When asked to share her position as wife
The fire in those kilns rekindled and blazed anew
And she sliced through the mooring rope holding her to shore

Carrying her precious kaolin bundle she sailed
Northwest through the java sea into this strange port
Hoping that this land and its heat will bake her son
Into a man who will carry her surname proudly

In her later years she spent her days in a rattan chair
Smoking relentlessly in the five-foot-way of their tiny rented shophouse
The glowing embers reduced to ash that fell onto the ground
Next to finely filigreed bone china teacups