the details by Pamela Seong Koon
sober grief is not like drunk grief, in the sense that there was always more you could do. when you celebrate, the day goes away. the memory framed in glass. when he died, i didn’t bother with visiting. i wanted his memory alive. the disparaging words, smoking, all of it. the club was playing songs i listened to in adolescence. i was dressed like a powerpuff girl. he thought i was special, meaning ill, in some way. i was a mangy dog running from command, my writing empty and useless compared to his cancer. with it, he brought guitars to houses. he gathered friends to raise money for charity. maybe i didn’t deserve to mourn, the life out of my hands. the day my cat died, he was relaxed, but gasping. the morning he didn’t look for sunlight and chose to stay on my sister’s tufted rug. his belly started to bruise, dark as cherries. on the drive to the clinic, i thought about hospital curtains. bodies changed, concealed, draped with white. he was hooked up to oxygen. the vet was apologetic and asked to expect a week. there were no curtains in the next hospital, only doors and small tables. to hope for something was cruel, to keep a small thing alive but in pain. his mouth was open the same when he padded on the beach, sand trapped between his fur from exploring. he wanted to go when he went. i wanted more of his life for weeks afterward, pulled his memory from the light. i never knew what the route to the hospital was.
Pamela Seong Koon enjoys many hobbies. Her work can be found in anthologies such as Alien Magazine, Cordite Poetry Review, AFTERIMAGE's substack publication OFTHENOW, and also in MRT stations and trains until 4th November 2026. She has performed as a feature for Spoke and Bird and sploosh!. She is looking to put out a book one day.