Pluvia Issue IV

His soul: another gram.
“Buddha will give you more strength now.” Her
words are pleading.
Palms towards the sky. Knees to the floor: perfect
equilibrium. Giving and taking in a single form.
The shield granted is another shackle, another weight;
humbling, really. They say Buddha has many faces;
Mom says they’re all for his safety and wellbeing, just
like her many faces.
Wind whispering with the window. Branches
mourn their lost flowers, sad soiree in January. Swaying
creates negative space, enough to fill voids.
Faw:
“Just something simple mom.”
Dinner was not simple. Plates line a plastic-wrapped
table set for three; she’ll be eating the same
flavor for the next couple days. The flight leaves tomorrow
morning. She knew he couldn’t stomach much beforehand.
She knew he would feel too heavy. She knew.
Whenever the plane leaves tarmac, his stomach, always
out of tune, plays leapfrog with his lungs. There’s
always children entertainment-hunting in the seat-pocket.
His mind returns to the food, daunting, taunting—each
bite a promise, a covenant, a debt: payment
has had many forms.
“Have you packed yet?” She asks tentatively.
Clicking chopsticks, in his mind, are an acceptable
response to anything; however, he relented.
“Yeah.”
“I made the fish just the way you like it.” She
apologizes with food.
“I can see that.”
“Eat. You’ve lost weight.”
Incorrect. Since he arrived, his steps have felt
slower, his legs have become heavier, he’s gained too
much.
She continues piling food into his bowl. Stomach
and heart: inverse proportions. One fills. One
drains. He thinks it’s an atonement for growing up,
growing away. The apple rolls farther and farther from
the tree; its luscious red coat caked in dirt, attractive to
worms, but it eats away at itself from the inside first.
Self-destruction is an ephemeral blessing.
He sighs and digs into the bowl, deeper… deeper.
His chopsticks groan, thinking about his stomach
tomorrow morning before the flight. He’ll be gripping
the side of a toilet bowl, tossing out his mother’s heart,
feeling four grams lighter.
Outside, light breeze envelops drizzling droplets,
waltzing.
BY JENNY EUN
BIRDS BY MARTINE RANCARANI
www.pluvialitmag.com
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