THECHAMPAFLOWER
SupposingIbecameachampaflower,justforfun,andgrewhupthattree,andshookihlaughterahenewlybuddedleaves,wouldyoukher?
Youwouldcall,“Baby,whereareyou?”andIshouldlaughtomyselfaequiet。
Ishouldslylyopealsandwatchyouatyourwork。
&eryourbath,withreadonyourshoulders,youwalkedthroughtheshadowofthechampatreetothelittlecourtwhereyousayyourprayers,youwouldoftheflower,butnotknowthatite。
&hemiddaymealyousatatthewindRamayana,aree’sshadowfelloveryourhairandyourlap,Ishouldflileshadowontothepageofyourbook,justwherey。
Butwouldyouguessthatitwasthetinyshadowofyourlittlechild?
&heevenihecowshedwiththelightedlampinyourhand,Ishouldsuddenlydropohagainandbeyourownbabyoncemore,aotellmeastory。
“Wherehaveyoubeen,younaughtychild?”
“Iwon’ttellyou,mother。”That’swhatyouandIwouldsaythen。