Scoop rice from bag
to be stitched into a pillowcase
wash rice
stir regret with a wooden dowel
rinse five times.
let tiny grains of dreams
swirl in the drain
smells like rotting fish
milky clouds seep
in mother’s eyes
bind with tears
plunge index finger in water
first knuckle measures
depth of her sorrow
swallowed by dementia
third rows of knuckles
trespasses into
soft squishy skin
a fist from the past
folding inward
angry flames
simmering recklessly
don’t stir
keep lid on
let cooked rice rest
fluff up appearance
leave a few grains behind
to settle on the bottom of the bowl
Count pimples one by one
to remind me
of the hurt I swallowed
Lillian Au is a writer and journalist. Her Christmas story is featured in the book “Upon a Midnight Clear.” She received an honourable mention for one of her stories for the International Amy MacRae Award for Memoir.