Of Pontianaks and Chinese Ghosts – Eugenia Tan

I once had a dream
that the Pontianak was a girl
who sold sweets at a void deck mama shop.

She fell in love with a Chinese soldier
who came to buy her sweets.
He did not own a HDB flat,
but she did not mind. His urn
was pretty fancy.

On a date at the Botanic Garden,
the ground beneath their picnic mat
shook and split with the force
of a cracked-open durian.
Out flew Yen Lo Wang, thunder-faced.

“This is an unholy relationship!”
he decreed, and waved his staff.
Pontianak was banished to hell,
while her soldier was trapped
in his tightly-sealed urn.

Pontianak wept so bitterly
for a thousand nights straight.
On the thousandth night,
Goddess Meng decided it was too much.
“Stop wailing, girl, and drink this.”

Skimming the surface of Lethe
with a silver cup, Goddess Meng
offered it to Pontianak, who took a sip.
It tasted bitter with grit, and she fell
into a deep slumber.

Upon awakening, she found herself
at a mama shop filled with tins of sweets.
I think she forgot her soldier, but
I cannot be sure.
I woke up at this point.