Some New House
Kristine Ong Muslim

Behind the yard, she sits back and bears
orange skull-shaped fruits on her persistent
neck-tree. The wind is stronger these days,
ripping her fruits from her branches
and smashing them against the grass.

Behind the yard, she sits back and ponders
how time flies whenever she is alone, how
the sunset is just a swatch of colors which has
nothing to do with her dreary state, and how her
once glorious mutation finally becomes a burden.

Behind the yard, she sits back, unable to weep,
as the neighbor’s confused dog looks on.