BY JULIE CHEN
I remember
Wee hands wrapped around ma’s belly
My dumpling cheeks pressed against her back as we
Laced our way between cars
Some honking there and a bus rumbles ahead
We pass tofu stands
Sweaty people mingling at bus stops and a woman in a yellow
sunhat
Our green bike pitches flakes of light onto passing windows
and I
Young and unworried
Rambled on about confetti and winged baboons
Poppies and other half a thingummies that three year olds
could possibly utter
And mum would smile, Doe-eyes crinkling in the warm sun
And the spokes would keep turning
Round-a-bout whirling
Until we got home.
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