#2

___2

Always, I am muddied by memories:
My father unfolding on top his bed
My mother--sweet-sour lemon-candy--
Rising from morning without her smile.

There are caramel-crackling images:
My two sisters twirling, amid a whirl
Of gushing-glitter noise. There are cloud dusts
On their heads, dripping deep into their eyes.
I am the only one who now can see

past the swelling, tangerine sunrise
And the scatter of chubby stars, to where
my father slumps, easing sleep from his eyes
With knuckles, rough and pink, while my mother
Hums a warm, liquid tune of a long-lost life.