Frank Xie

The Day I Died

I.

Do you remember how we first met—

when I counted to a thousand thousand, and 

you took me and I took you then—

II.

Do you remember when I taught Mum

how to pick up the pearly grains of rice 

with chopsticks, 

the hard click of chopsticks,

the soft pop as it disappeared into our mouths.

III.

Do you remember how we used

to look each other in the eyes, knowingly—

and suddenly tears, they'd flow down

in salty rivulets 

like we were a hosepipe—

and Mum caught on 

eventually,

and we caught on 

eventually.

IV.

Do you remember taking those

Go lessons together, how you'd

fidget with your fingers

and I'd pinch those ceramic discs like 

they were going to flee

from me, and you'd unhelpfully

point out where I misplaced, 

and stick your tongue out at my opponent

when he did. 

V.

Do you remember the glint

in your eye when Mr. Stewart,

tired of seeing my hand gasping for breath

every time he'd ask a question, 

let us sit down at the back—

how I asked, may I cut out

some shapes while I am sitting there, Sir, 

how the greedy eyes under neatly-groomed hair 

followed us back and I narrowed my eyes, declared, 

I'm doing something 

important, he let me. 

VI.

That time I tried our hand at pottery 

and our pot flopped, pieces of it caving into a pile of clay—

and you whispered your magic,

and suddenly a cup seemed to take shape before me—

…how you could talk, and my feet 

would move just that little bit faster—

how you could talk, and I would know that

that bread would burn—

how could you talk, say that 

I'd been skiing the snowy slopes of Austria, 

when I had also been hunched, gnarled

over a piece of scrunched-up paper, 

exactly then—

VII.

…how you'd ask late at night, 

why are you still working, 

and I'd walk to the bathroom mirror,

look beyond, ask who'd been

begging me not to for the last few hours—

VIII.

…when we'd sit at the piano keys,

the zebra crossing would melt together—

and we'd shuffle—

always behind, you'd complain—

always ahead, I'd ask—

and the world caught on—

IX.

did your words always ring so hollow?

…when you saw me, I saw you, 

just the same, 

with closed eyes, still limbs—

and they were your eyes, your limbs—

I cried that day—so did you—

you caught on—

X.

Do you remember when 

I said goodbye, and?

I said goodbye, to me,

I said goodbye, and you were

and you weren't, and I was—