two days later
and the bump (or induration)
was exactly 10mm
exactly 10mm larger
than i wanted it to be
and put me on the cusp
of negative and positive
she sided with caution
and checked positive
and sent me
to strip down
and hold deep breaths
in radiology
who sent me home
to wait
another two days
she wasn’t wrong
it did feel like a bee sting
a slight pinch
where the point went in
and it looked like a bee sting
the way the skin reddened
and swelled roundly
in response to the ppd
and my fingers have been
drawn to the wheal
so like a bee sting’s
but instead of constantly
wildly scratching at it
with no care
for how it might grow
i only sometimes
lightly, absently rub
hoping the firm bump
will not widen
before she measures it
in the morning
I was looking for a cassette tape
the one where I am learning
to repeat the alphabet
after my father
and where one older brother is yelling
out encouragements to me
to pull the hair of another
even older brother
I thought it was in the black
dust-topped, snapped-together
cardboard box perched atop my bookcase
but that only contained:
the Lion King soundtrack
one Chinese artists mixtape
a radio top 40 countdown
and my first, forgotten
oral history interview of
my mother, from 1994
I had wanted to hear
some words from my past
and instead found stories
from a time before that
when i was a child
they always spoke of you
as being younger
than C- and older than O-
so i imagined you as older
because they were older
and as they aged
in my mind, so did you
graduating from your teens
into your twenties and beyond
so it wasn’t until last year’s talks
with mom, that it finally sunk in
that at thirty three, i was already
three times as old as you were
when they lost you, years before
you had a chance to become a teen
chaah? chaah! chaah.
i have a problem with chaah,
not the idea, just the word
the feminine gendered “yes”
that i was taught to use
the way my brothers were
instructed to say bhaat
as many times as i’ve spoken it,
saying chaah never became
second nature, the way it
was supposed to tumble out
in response to questions and
statements and… everything else
instead, there is hesitation
a moment’s consideration
a weighing of its necessity
before i retreat to using less
traditional, formal, polite
english versions like “yes”
and “yea” and “yep” or the
universal “huh?” and “uh huh”
chaah reminds me too much
of a little two-year-old girl
her toddler’s voice imprinted
on a scratchy audio cassette
answering her proud father
each time he calls her name
T-… T-… T-…
chaah. chaah. chaah.
it is the verbal reminder
of promises unkept
isn’t too long
and some items
aren’t very inspired
get a tattoo
learn to paint
write in khmer
shave my head
kiss a girl
these are all
things i know
i will do
some of them
maybe this year
then it comes
to being better
as a friend
as a sister
as a daughter
and i worry
a single lifetime
is not enough
this silence
enveloping us
sits heavy
a cool fog
dampening
the senses
that i pray
the rising sun
can burn away
“i spend too much time editing”
out the things that don’t fit
parts you don’t need to know
details i’m not ready to share
forcing myself into this container
hoping you don’t see the scars
left by what’s been cut away
or the wrinkles on edges bent
from being shoved in a box
maybe a little or a lot too small
and you ask, “what if you didn’t?”
and i don’t have an answer
i’m so used to not being whole
i raise my hand
and the fingers
reach for you
time winds down
sharp lines stretch
soften into a chasm
coldness sets in
and you slip away
before i can move
there are no cars on the road
the dogs across the canyon have stopped
howling at the setting, almost-full moon
the neighbor’s restless rooster
has completed his hourly crowing
the fickle wind has come and gone
leaving the trees in peace again
and i can hear my father’s muffled cough
through the shared wall of our bedrooms
loosing the binds 