down Court Street. Something in her childish pride
reminds me of you, who would have been
taller than I am now, but were smaller than she when you died.
Down Court Street, something in her childish pride
makes me look at tall boys, about fifteen,
taller than I am now. Smaller than she was when you died,
I try to imagine your five-year-old face as a teen.
Tall, gangling boys acting silly in public
remind me of you, who would have been,
at this age, both intricate pleasure and pain in the neck.
Oh, sad little Chinese girl,
pushing your yellow bunny in the pink pram.
– from The Arithmetic of Mourning, 1998
Green Rock Press, Seattle WA