Inside Out and Back Again

Today is Tét,
the first day
of the lunar calendar.

Every Tét
we eat sugary lotus seeds
and glutinous rice cakes.
We wear all new clothes,
even underneath.

Mother warns
how we act today
foretells the whole year.
Everyone must smile
no matter how we feel.

No one can sweep,
for why sweep away hope?
No one can splash water,
for why splash away joy?

Today
we all gain one year in age,
no matter the date we were born.
Tét, our New Year’s,
doubles as everyone’s birthday.

Now I am ten, learning
to embroider circular stitches.
to calculate fractions into percentages,
to nurse my papaya tree to bear many fruit

But last night I pouted
when Mother insisted
one of my brothers
must rise first
this morning
to bless our house
because only male feet
can bring luck.

An old, angry knot
expanded in my throat.

I decided
to wake before dawn
and tap my big toe
to the tile floor
first.

Not even Mother,
sleeping beside me, knew.