Remember when you wrapped me

in a blanket

with a high fever?

Rushed me to the emergency room

They stuck a long needle into my back

The fever subsided, but your pain did not

The pain of not knowing

The pain of not having

your own mother there

to tell you the anecdotal actions

one should take

when one’s child is sick

Remember when you found me?

In the pool

Almost drowning

You say you saw

my short black hair

wispy tufts

Body floating gently

as if in the womb

I was four, you twenty-nine

You saved me

and once again I

owed you my tiny fragile life

At first it was just my mommy and me

My mom, I call her mẹ

A heavily pronounced “men” without the “n”

When I was born, my father was not there

I’m sure my mom cried — 

happiness, loneliness, all tightly wrapped up in tiny little pink bundle

He was in San Jose, my mom in Pittsburgh

California, not Pennsylvania

I later found out from reading my birth certificate

I was actually born in Martinez, not Pittsburgh

I took my mom’s last name — Doan, 

and as my father was not physically present, 

neither was he present on paper — his name is not on my birth certificate

Pretty peculiar for as long as I can remember I’ve gone by my father’s last name — Hoang

In Vietnamese tradition

But I did not ask I was a quiet and polite child

and children did not ask about about the past

and with hands folded 

I learned that we were also not supposed to ask about the future

even our own 

for their future was unclear and mine was set in stone

Not a single mother, but an alone mother

Not knowing new norms nor language

She continued to navigate her way through migration

She strapped me to her back, walked and took the bus all over town

Subsisted on $500 a month of government assistance

Most of which went to shelter, the rest for food 

One month she was mugged and ate instant noodles for the remainder of the month

Maybe that’s why I like them so much — the smell bringing back hidden imprints of tough yet happy times — my brain still forming

He eventually returned her purse to her sans money

Left it at her front door, an ironic act of kindness 

She tells this story often and I often wonder what part of it really resonates with her

Twenty-five, still young at heart — even after being driven from her country and having to grow up so fast

She believed America stood for freedom, democracy – a place where books would never burn

She felt lucky to have been rescued by an American ship, given opportunities of the American Dream

In some ways, she is more American than me 

Had she known she’d end up in America someday maybe she would have taken English instead of French

But she chose French, because she is a hopeless romantic 

and had the luxury of being one at the time