Saturday, September 12, 2009


His grandmother yells at him every morning, in a tongue from the old lands of China, before the bus pulls into the circle, and its yellow hull lines them up without being corralled. Defiance marks his face despite his features being on an even playing field and he roars back at her, his tongue not as old, as he reels from her field worn hands. She is exasperated at what this country has done to time tested customs of respect and authority for elders. He baits her until she begins again. Aleathia Drehmer 2008 Published by The Cartier Street Review 7/09

1 comment:

nadinada said...

how well your eye adjusts to other views.
how fine your ear capture other sounds.
i can feel the heart of you; in the other mother.