The Prawn’s Tale

My mother tells me how she

never got over
her motherlessness.

(I am still working on it myself.)

Over coursed Chinese cuisine,

I tell her I felt

compelled to find her,

partially thanks to my father.

“You know, Dad never once said a single thing bad about you.”

She replies, “How could he? I never gave him any reason to.

He was the only one who did anything wrong.”

I sit, eyeing the split back of the giant prawn.

Picking it up, gently twisting off its head

peeling the skin off its back,

I push the flesh out.

An eye dangles to meet mine.

“It depends on whose side to tell a story from.”