LITTLE BOY

Does she remember us, dad?

Tiny voice from the left, high pitched, inquiring,

Floats towards me, as I alight from the BART;

The familiarity of it steeps into my pores,

Crawls through my veins,

Settles into my heart - and I pause;

Transfer . . .

ATM machine . . .

Call hostel . . .

Verify reservation . . .

Get directions . . .

Find the map . . .

Check in . . .

A mental check list of

Mundane essentials slough off, like onion layers

As he walks towards me;

And I sit, allowing him to invade me,

To climb into my lap and settle

In the comfortable spot, the way he always did.

                                       

Do you remember me, he asks, into my cheek;

I’ll always remember you, I murmur

Into his hair, the color of charcoal, the curl of cyclamen petals;

The scent of oatmeal brings me home;

Even when we’re planets apart, I say,

I’ll always remember you.

Camille Tuason Mata

Manukau, Auckland, NZ © 2013