Yellow Moon by Eva Lilith Quintos

Yellow Moon

The night air feels cold against my skin,
Abrupt and firm,
Prying open slumbering eyes.

Moving away, away from the flickering yellow.
Yellow swarms of so many lightning bugs.
Away from the yellow shard under the closed door.
Away from the jaundiced eyes that burst into the room.

Red faced, bloated beast
Hungry for the blood of an Englishman.

Away from the yellow smell of Chivas and cigarettes
Clinging to his Navy whites.

In a hurry.
Yellow flecks now off in the distance.

I spy Lola Jin behind us, yellow teeth clenched in a sick panicky smile.
Junior clasped to her side looks back at yellow like me.
Lola Jin corralled us like a border collie.

Out. Away.

Mommy’s arms around me.
Yellow moon caught in the clasp of her pearls.
Big Sisters Tsing-Tsing and Ritchie flanking her, flanking me.
Eyes forward. Silent, small, stealthy guard dogs.

The night air feels cold against my skin,
Shifts and turns,
Blowing weary lids to close.

Cannot see the Zippo dancing in Lola Jin’s apron pocket,
Cannot smell the gasoline still lingering on her fingertips.
Hearing only the rustle of banyan trees overhead.

Over the river, through the woods
To the safe bosom of the jungle.

The night air feels cold
Against my three-year-old skin.