Out of curiosity, I
drew a dot on the sofa,
which Mom said was worth $20,000.
I just wanted to test if
it really wouldn’t come off.
I was 5 and only knew how to hide.
15 years have gone by, ink faded, nobody else knows,
but that naughty girl shall confess to Mom
Stressed over busy schedules, I scolded at my mom.
My voice bounced around the room.
The air was heavy with unspoken words.
Sleepless night, a beam of light shone into my room.
The smell of pork bone congee was from the dimly lit kitchen.
It was salty and pasty, because of my mom’s tears.
Poor family, poor me
I scolded at my parents
Without knowledge of how they strive
For my raising
Meagre pay, looked down upon, cramped space
In public housing
Like a parasite lodging in a host
With poor nutrition
Twitching lips, pounding heart
Gone too extreme
How poor to have said that
File closed, grumbles subsided
A Dinner of Regret
Blood streaking on the floor,
Rice and veggies spilt with dread.
Tom grasping his hand in agony;
A shattered TV remote and fork dripping red.
The petrified me staring at him, lost and empty,
With the news still running but silent in my head.
If only, if only,
I didn’t fight for the remote instead.
What else could I do?
Watching them screaming, losing self-control and rationality.
She left the room, but I knew things would not just end here.
I was right, she returned, and everything happened so fast, I heard a knife hitting the floor.
It was so close. In great panic he dialled his phone.
And I knew it was happening again.