These Days by Dominique Ahkong
These Days
Dominique AhkongI turn to the shadows,
to the sun that struggles to rise
in the sky and the moon that has sliced
a thousand small ears. I turn
to the bat that roosts
on hollow branches, I turn to the bird
that drinks on the wing. I sleep alone
these days, and rarely speak.
But in dreams, birds weave
my saliva into nests shaped
like brackets to enclose
all the questions I am
not ready to hatch. Teach me
to harden in the air I say,
waking up, pecking
my own face.
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SHARED WITH GRATITUDE
This poem appeared in Pirene’s Fountain Volume 18, Issue 26, 2025.
ABOUT DOMINIQUE AHKONG
Dominique Ahkong is a writer and creative dabbler of Hakka-Mauritian descent. She was born in the UK, raised in Singapore, and now lives in North Central Arizona, where she co-edits Shō Poetry Journal. Her poetry has recently appeared in The Southern Review, The Cincinnati Review, The Georgia Review, Best New Poets, and elsewhere. (Source)
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ENDNOTES
- Explore other works in pursuit of: nature • transformation • solitude • Or browse the index
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