A butter-colored hand,
dirt shades the chainlinked road
of her lifeline, uneven
as it meanders across
the tiny cup of a
young girl's palm.

Seven years alive
in a malnourished body,
playing jump-rope and
collecting river stones.

The fortune-teller deciphers
the karmic script written
in the smooth wrinkles
between calluses.

"Not a long life ahead,"
he says as T-cells fall prey
to the family virus.

Kwan's lips turn blue
when swimming
in the brown river water
with her friends.

She runs to me
for a towel,
I hold her while she shivers
with immune deficiency,
smiles when I tickle her.

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