Air slips in between the cobwebbed spaces,
under the chair where only dust and a half-light
reside, over the countertops, past the pickle jars
which contain last decade's silences. I hear it whistle,
make the house groan as it infuses sky into
the grains of the wooden boards under my feet.
The rug crumples under my weight; it yields
for it has nothing to lose. I feel the softness sink in.
Kristine Ong Muslim lives in Maguindanao, the Philippines. Her
work has appeared internationally in such publications as Noneuclidean
Caféé, Syntax, Chronogram, The Bellevue Literary Review, and Turnrow.