i dont remember being pushed
in a stroller around manhattan,
or getting lost in transit
at the atlanta airport,
when my parents faced the worst
for fifteen agonising minutes.
but i remember returning from america
with a best friend:
a cotton mickey mouse from disneyland
in a red vest and red shorts, and arms
that could embrace me almost
as warmly as my mother.
i have kept him for twenty-three years.
i will give him to the girl I will marry.
i will give her my mother’s old ring, too.
i will embrace her
and continue in transit together
in a different america,
while twelve thousand five hundred and eighty kilometres away
i will leave behind
who pushed me.