Euginia Tan


soft boiled eggs

the best eggs always look like
faintly freckled skin
moles splattered on a beige shell
you could not see them cook
but metal and heat would push and churn
the egg’s transparent glaze into white
yolk into oil paint
the egg spun when it was ready
when cracked, it poured
as first time lovers did,
unravelling late into the night


water hands

a sailor’s hands
greet everything he touches:
passengers, the wheel,
the cinch of water lapping up
hands that untie knots, dice meat,
commandeer fleets
he rests with hands
compact on his stomach
as guard dogs are
asleep but prone to rouse
and for a moment
the tight wrinkled sails
on his forehead unfurl
into a smooth brown sheet
his compass mind
still but steady



Euginia Tan is a Singaporean writer who writes poetry, creative non-fiction and plays. She enjoys cross-pollinating art into multidisciplinary platforms and reviving stories. Contact her at