Los AngelesMaw Shein Win
I don’t know how to love, she whispers to me from across the table. It was the beginning of Spring and little flowers were starting to pop up in the strangest places. Lifting the sheet this morning, I found a cluster of rosebuds growing on my right thigh. She continues, When I was only three weeks old, my mother gave me away to another family. She looks like a crushed bee. They were almost hippies, this family, only they dressed better. I can’t remember my mother’s face ... I begin to feel bored. Why did she give you away? Looking at her pale face, she reminds me of a calla lily. The couple at the next table bicker over the remaining crème brûlée. The waiter brings our ginger teas. I bite into my blueberry scone. They wanted a boy I suppose. I think about myself. Is that what my mother wanted? We abruptly change the subject and go back to talking about our screenplays and our lousy boyfriends.
Maw Shein Win Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2022, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|