I am carrying too many groceries to count

Bell peppers, bitter melons, pickled plums,

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And I can’t put them down

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So I stack and cram and heap
Until my body screams
from supporting this Goliath weight

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My father is a black smudge over the mountains of condiments

His face two coloured spots and a crayon line down
My mother’s hands glow in the night
The fluorescent lights glazing the windows

My brother in the backseat humming like a register

Quiet but not really there

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So I read the labels
The charts and tables
The numbers consume me
A gurgling pile in my tummy

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I read and eat and read till I find myself at the drop off

A world away from my home

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My father drives off
The driver’s seat laden with groceries

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Laundry liquid, winter melons, potato sacks

My mother calls me down the landline
The sound of soursop and soy sauce in her voice

As she wishes me well and to sleep early

My brother lies awake with his broccoli, potatoes and chicken

The bed trembling under their weight