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Two out of three by Lisabelle Tay



Two out of three

after Sarah Russell


If I had three lives, I’d set them up

like an experiment. In the first 

I keep it simple: childhood sweethearts

without complication, which makes

for a nice and slightly tedious powerpoint

at our Gardens by the Bay wedding.

Placidly but with some difficulty I birth

three children, then we move to Australia.

There you mellow and I sharpen. 

I write poems on occasion and tell people 

it’s a hobby. We indulge each other.

And summers before dawn birds

race shrieking over glaucous fields. 


In the second our story unfolds like 

nesting dolls of unease. It still begins in

childhood, but here we are hampered

by personality and circumstance. 

We break up as teenagers and I marry 

someone else. You’re nearly engaged

when you turn up at the baby shower.

The baby grows and my marriage ends,

you make choice after choice all of which 

go nowhere. And here we are again —

up to this point I disdain the evidence 

of my body, but you teach me otherwise. 

Economy of motion. It had to be you,

who knew me before everything

that made me wise happened.

Then, again, we come apart like clouds.

You call it fate and I call it stupidity.

I plod on with the writing, which is

neither hobby nor career, just a tree

that keeps growing in ludicrous soil.

You remain lodged inside me like the 

thorn in my thigh, flesh grown plump 

and dark over an old wound. 


In the third I am careful to be happy. 

I leave you after childhood and never

return to the same country. I never marry.

I pad around my cottage in vintage 

nightgowns and drink wine at readings, 

some of which are mine. Modest acclaim here

and no perpetuation of generational sins.

How delicious it is to write now in peace

and listen to the bald scuttling of insects.

Some weekends I enjoy a man I don’t love,

then wave goodbye distracted — see

the spider in the porch corner and her

conjurations, relentless and triangular. Here

time spins patiently on its axis 

without sound.






Lisabelle Tay is a Singaporean writer and poet. Her poetry appears in Anthropocene, Bad Lilies, and elsewhere; her debut pamphlet was Pilgrim (The Emma Press, 2021). Her fiction appears in Sine Theta Magazine and elsewhere, and she is currently a virtual writer-in-residence with the National Centre for Writing. 

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