You remember abandoning me beside the palm tree, in front of the medicine store because I knew the path home and you could no longer carry this load; you are frail and haven't eaten in six days, hoping only to over-nourish your children, relying on the belief that corpulent children will be chosen first, and you would eat tomorrow maybe, right now you will stand motionless behind the mango cart waiting for me to stop looking at the woman who is nursing a set of twins, and the young boy who is selling his own hat, and the elderly man who is inhaling two cigarettes, and the group of children who are bathing in the fountain. And when I turn to clasp your hand you are not there so I walk forward and forward to the path I remembered for I remember seeing you lurking behind me, watching to see if a three-year old would detect by the scent of gingered soup where her home lies beyond the Trong-Dao River next to the patches of gardenia.

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