Quarterly Literary Review Singapore
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Vol. 1 No. 1 Oct 2001

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My Father Growing Old

I imagine him getting up early to make
his own coffee. Reading the papers.
No plans for the day. Turning on the radio
a little louder than it has to be.
Alone at home. Then the phone rings,
he answers it, finds me
on the line. His son, a grown man now,
calling from another country, increasingly
distant, more and more a stranger;
The call, cheering him up, nonetheless.
He says, How are you? Hows everything?
He really wants to know. He is my father,
after all. He is growing old. But I dont
know where to start. I want to tell him that
I love him and that Im sorry I have to
live my own life now. But these are not the
things I know how to say from a distance.
These are things I know I may never learn
to say. So we speak of smaller daily things,
and soon this brief connection will
unmake itself, and expire.

By Gilbert Koh

QLRS Vol. 1 No. 1 Oct 2001


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Return to Vol. 1 No. 1 Oct 2001

  Other Poems in this Issue

Garden City
By Gilbert Koh.

Fair Youth
By Arthur Yap.

On Offal
By Arthur Yap.

By John Tranter.

Incendium Amoris
By Alvin Pang.

By Megan Ng.

The Wandering Eye
By Dominic Chua.

Concealed Exit Ahead
By Yeow Kai Chai.


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