I shall miss your red paper lanterns,
Your unconventional combination of both south-east and far eastern influences and menu items.
Your green chopsticks and complimentary green mock bamboo wall skirting.
The plant I have always assumed is a banana tree in your entry way, I am only now taking time to investigate. In doing so I realise I have no idea what the distinctive traits which aid in the the accurate identification of a banana tree are.
I will miss your banana splits.
Your sashimi, and eclectic nineties pop music.
The wedding ceremony pre (or post?) parties.
I know not the legitimacy of their ritual or history,
no more than I know the authenticity of your dishes.
I know only that the salt and the vinegary sweetness has wooed me.
I am yet to visit Malaysia, Sousa district, Yamaguchi prefecture. I will never see Burma.
Your laksa soup is the closest I have yet to come to Singapore.
When I do trace those pirate shores, you will be indelibly linked with my time there,
as you will be with my time spent here, amongst the traffic, the filling and emptying of the tube station and your tables, the coming and going of friends.
I will miss your teapot perhaps most of all.
The waining wicker handle.
Smooth stout ceramic covered by floral imperial reds and pastel green.
Blue tits, jasmine and lotus flowers.
Spring rolls or gyoza?
“Next time you’re in town”
“Same time next week?”
Your red lanterns sway.
Filled with fireflies.