Mabuk Kepayang (Lost Lost)

by Brandon Roy

The drunk old lady next door
collects bottles in shadow
boxes. She has no need for
love, friends or family.
She has the drink.

She accepts the language of
theatrics. She numbs herself,
uninterested and will not
go to bed. She lectures the
air and works on trust.

Sometimes she plays poker,
she reads magazines and
mixes experimental concoctions.
Ignoring the warning labels,

She doesn't try to fool others.
She is a paradox crapped in
messy hair. She used to be so
pretty. She ignores the facts.

She goes outside and sits.
Smokes her cigarette, drinks
her liquor and speaks her
truth. No one goes near her.

Her Death

by Brandon Roy

Since she is dead
she is now good
silence is her will
to speak no more
the living will not
bother you

A fair sky at
dusk,and the
headstones all
in a row
day wedding night

The closing flowers
The faint lights

The growing hours

Have no claim
On her stiff corpse

A cry,a stare
flickering candles
whispered prayers
for souls that
were lost

Make them hear
the falling eyes
dying to see them
again