Kumquat 

Sometimes, it is the seeds sown 

yet not grown 

that burn the memories deepest. 

Sometimes, it is the stories 

unfinished 

that repeat, 

their beating in my skull. 

Sometimes, it is the same pain, 

this season, 

each year, 

that calls,

repeating. 

Sometimes, 

I find it hard to breathe. 

A whole mess ‘a

There’s a whole mess ‘a beans here.

“You made a mess, mama?”

No, honey. A mess is a silly word. It can mean a lot of something. 

“You should clean up your bean mess, mama.”

Don’t you worry, little lady. I plan to do just that.


“What’s he doing, mama?”

He’s picking flowers, love.

“He’s eating them?”

Yes, he’s eating them. 

“Don’t eat flowers, buddee!”

It’s ok to eat those flowers, honey. Would you like one? 

“Yes. I’d like one. Ima pick it. Mama, I need to put my flower inside so it doesn’t get cold.”

Inside is colder than outside today. Your flower may like it inside because it’s cooler.

“No, mama. My flower doesn’t like it colder.”

“Mama, my flower needs water! It’s sad! It’s so thirsty!”

It is sad, but it might be too late. We can try anyway. Go ask papa for a cup and get some water. 

“Drink, flower. You’re so thirsty, you need to drink.” 

So flowers don’t drink from their mouths like we do. Flowers drink from their stems. The stem is the long green part that looks like a noodle. 

“My flower drinks like this, with its mouth.” 

I don’t know how much your flower likes that, honey. It wants the water to come up the stem, from the bottom. 

“Look, mama. It wants the water from its stem. Like this. Ima show you.”

Yes, honey, it does, just like that.