yi ma shakes the morning open
out the window, the day’s laundry—
my baby bra and a loose white shirt—
slung on the line, just above
the balcony where yei yei’s peeling
longan, a cigarette between his teeth.
small brown husks fall to the floor, slowly
pile around his feet. each time he breathes
a trail of smoke rises up, snakes through
yi ma’s bedroom window;
on a straw mat inside
i am fast asleep, dreaming.
15 this year, and maybe finally