Childhood: A Zuihitsu

A snippet of hair and a brittle toenail moon

The orange rubber bath toy christened "Mr. D"

A little writing table with a hinged lid, its recessed drawer  
holding comic books and lined paper, plastic tubes of paste

A long pillow against which three daughters could lean,
each holding a picture book in the morning

A red, zippered sweatshirt hoodie that looked reddest
against a canvas of green grass at the park

The store on the second floor of Mar-Bay selling
clothes from Taiwan and Hello Kitty marshmallows

Every goat ever tied to the guava tree in the backyard,
bleating before the knife and the fire and the feast

A wooden ruler and pencil on the piano keyboard waiting
for fingers to flay  flog

The bit of torn newspaper her mother used to cover
an evil-looking face in the background of the family picture

Missals and rosary beads, shale-colored lace veils

The women's collective screaming when the child
walked in from the garden with a gash on her forehead

The roasted pig's gummy tongue, the chicken's rubbery 
heart, its sandy liver

A stoppered amber vial in the alcove with something
fleshy swimming in liquid 

The doorframe, one side still bearing pencil marks
recording height and growth
 




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