Vague Lights

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without the rain       i undress the night myself
like the skin of bruised fruit      i can’t help but
push. there is no riot        of thunder slick & heavy
under the tongue,       no flood to cleanse     the sin
i wear as if        it is only a layer        of blush
on my cheeks, the colour of roses.          the colour
of august & my quiet       undoing. on the train
ride home, it felt good     to admit i was lonely.
to look out      the window      & see vague lights
floating      around each other    beneath the faint
glow of broken street lamps     just light dancing
with more        light, orbiting        the same circle,
taunting me       with bright mouths.     the world
goes on touching everything      except this strange
body of mine.       sick with longing,        i undress
the night       the way           a lover would. the way
an ampersand        curls into itself –      arms always
seeking, nothing                    waiting on either side.

Donnalyn Xu

Donnalyn Xu is a Filipino-Chinese writer, poet, and sometimes-artist from Sydney, Australia. Her work has appeared in print and online in Overland, Honi Soit, Voiceworks, Art Edit, and Folk Magazine, amongst others. Her writing often explores the strangeness of memory, particularly through our relationship with art and materiality. She is currently an undergraduate student at the University of Sydney, studying Media and Communications with a double major in English and Art History.

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