Inside Out and Back Again (2 page)

the first day

of the lunar calendar.

Every T
t

we eat sugary lotus seeds

and glutinous rice cakes.

We wear all new clothes,

even underneath.

Mother warns

how we act today

foretells the whole year.

Everyone must smile

no matter how we feel.

No one can sweep,

for why sweep away hope?

No one can splash water,

for why splash away joy?

Today

we all gain one year in age,

no matter the date we were born.

T
t, our New Year’s,

doubles as everyone’s birthday.

Now I am ten, learning

to embroider circular stitches,

to calculate fractions into percentages,

to nurse my papaya tree to bear many fruits.

But last night I pouted

when Mother insisted

one of my brothers

must rise first

this morning

to bless our house

because only male feet

can bring luck.

An old, angry knot

expanded in my throat.

I decided

to wake before dawn

and tap my big toe

to the tile floor

first.

Not even Mother,

sleeping beside me, knew.

February 11
T
t

Every new year Mother visits

the I Ching Teller of Fate.

This year he predicts

our lives will twist inside out.

Maybe soldiers will no longer

patrol our neighborhood,

maybe I can jump rope

after dark,

maybe the whistles

that tell Mother

to push us under the bed

will stop screeching.

But I heard

on the playground

this year’s
bánh ch
ng
,

eaten only during T
t,

will be smeared in blood.

The war is coming

closer to home.

February 12

My name is Hà.

Brother Quang remembers

I was as red and fat

as a baby hippopotamus

when he first saw me,

inspiring the name

Hà Mã,

River Horse.

Brother V
screams,
Hà Ya
,

and makes me jump

every time

he breaks wood or bricks

in imitation of Bruce Lee.

Brother Khôi calls me

Mother’s Tail

because I’m always

three steps from her.

I can’t make my brothers

go live elsewhere,

but I can

hide their sandals.

We each have but one pair,

much needed

during this dry season

when the earth stings.

Mother tells me

to ignore my brothers.

We named you Kim H
,

after the Golden
(Kim)
River
(Hà),

where Father and I

once strolled in the evenings.

My parents had no idea

what three older brothers

can do

to the simple name

Hà.

Mother tells me,

They tease you

because they adore you.

She’s wrong,

but I still love

being near her, even more than I love

my papaya tree.

I will offer her

its first fruit.

Every day

It grew from a seed

I flicked into

the back garden.

A seed like

a fish eye,

slippery

shiny

black.

The tree has grown

twice as tall

as I stand

on tippy toes.

Brother Khôi spotted

the first white blossom.

Four years older,

he can see higher.

Brother V
later found

a baby papaya

the size of a fist

clinging to the trunk.

At eighteen,

he can see that much higher.

Brother Quang is oldest,

twenty-one and studying engineering.

Who knows what he will notice

before me?

I vow

to rise first every morning

to stare at the dew

on the green fruit

shaped like a lightbulb.

I will be the first

to witness its ripening.

Mid-February

My best friend TiTi

is crying hard,

snotting the hem

of her pink fluffy blouse.

Her two brothers

also are sniffling

inside their car

packed to the roof

with suitcases.

TiTi shoves into my hand

a tin of flower seeds

we gathered last fall.

We hoped to plant them

together.

She waves from the back window

of their rabbit-shaped car.

Her tears mix with long strands of hair,

long hair I wish I had.

I would still be standing there

crying and waving to nothing

if Brother Khôi hadn’t come

to take my hand.

They’re heading to