Heart shaped, sparkling and beautiful.
My mom gave it to me for my birthday when I turned 5
in Vietnam.
A year later, I zipped it into my backpack along with
the other things
coming with me
to America.
On the bus to the airport I took out my charm
and opened it.
I looked at the picture,
as small as my finger nail.
In the little photo, my eyes glance at the window,
Lipstick colors my mom’s sad mouth peachy.
I looked out the bus window.
Saigon moved passed me.
Goodbye, Vietnam. I’ll miss you forever.
Tears slipped out of my eyes.
On the plane, I asked my mom,“Where is my backpack?”
“I don’t have it,” she said.
I left it on the bus.
Maybe now it’s on someone else’s
back.
