By Regan Chern
Thin paper tears easily.
Falls, like cherry blossom,
In a bathroom stall.
Barely get a piece,
Goddamn broken thumb.
Somehow believe I write you⎯
That’s your mother’s scrawl.
Wish I could take you,
To postcard places I am not.
Give you absence⎯
What a funny life sentence!
Forever read it between bars.
She tells me you got a pony,
A little sister, a God.
One survived the flash flood.
Suppose I’ll sully you,
Bury my name with things lost.
Go deaf when kids yell it.
We are in cruel yards.
Don’t waste a post-grad vacation:
We’ve only got thin paper,
Like, but not cherry blossom,
And me, of the worst variety.
Author Bio:
Regan is in his final year of a BFA (Creative Writing) at QUT etc.… do you really need to know more than that? You could be reading my work instead, you know. It’s far better than any dry self-aggrandising drivel that I could’ve written for this bio.
If you’d like to contact me, do so through my Instagram: @regancchern