when i was younger by Rye Tran

when i was younger

Rye Tran

when i was younger ba said “i love you” through outstretched calloused hands plucking emerald guavas from trees too tall for reach mẹ said “i care” through guided sharpened knives she used to sculpt mango figurines

when i was younger ông said “don’t grow up too fast” by hoisting butterfly hammocks for lazy summer days while bà said “don’t be afraid” by crouching over pots of boiling broth so we’d sleep at night with warm bellies and mouths stained from soup.

now that i’m older dad says “i’m scared” through eyes glued to flashing television screens and news articles mom cautions “the world is cruel” when she presses close as i guide creaky shopping carts through supermarkets grandma says “we aren’t welcome” as she wraps herself in layers and layers of floral quilt --the ones grandpa used to use now that i’m older words still do not suffice to capture my family’s feelings defenseless under a barrage or insults where broken English finds no solace with nothing but wooden canes to ward off industrial-grade ammunition and hate. 5