Lost
I
Find my hand
in a crowd like
cold, running water
finds a paper cut
so minute it is
unfelt until
unforgotten.
II
If every over-
shoulder glance
only furthers
and shrinks you,
then the only
way to keep you
close and larger
than life is to
never look back;
only inward.
III
My fingertips
yellow in cold
or under stress.
The doctor
agrees it’s likely
Raynaud’s. The
doctor will not
agree it’s also
my grip
on the past.
IV
After a bout
in the sun,
your face is a
constellation,
every now-
distinct mole
and freckle
guiding me
home to
safety.
*
Allison Thung is a Singaporean poet and project manager. She is the author of Reacquaint (kith books, 2024) and the forthcoming Things I can only say in poems about/to an unspecified ‘you’ (Hem Press, 2025). Her poetry has been published in ANMLY, Heavy Feather Review, Cease, Cows, The Daily Drunk, and elsewhere, and nominated for Best of the Net, Best Microfiction, and Best Small Fictions. Allison reads poetry for ANMLY. Find her on Twitter and Instagram @poetrybyallison, or at www.allisonthung.com.
