The only things that outnumber
or can match the stars are sand,
dead souls and spoken words.
Do you hear that clicking sound?
It’s from that stopped clock
on the second floor. Sometimes
its big hand remembers its time and ticks.
Then it really remembers its time.
And stops again.
One time, I drew my predecessor’s head
based on her pictures you keep.
I couldn’t get her eyes right.
Lips, hair, moles. All wrong.
I mean to say at night
I imagine I can complete your sentences,
but my expressions almost always
aren’t your own, and annoyed,
you start from the beginning again.
I once said fuck
when you were going to say Spain.
You and I have come this far.
Sometimes I count the steps
and forget that no one else
is walking on this path but us.
Tammy Ho Lai-Ming is a Hong Kong-born writer currently based in London, UK. She is a founding co-editor of Cha: An Asian Literary Journal and the poetry editor of Fleeting Magazine. More at http://www.sighming.com