Cherub
by Pamela Yuen
Published April 9, 2021
My mom-friend calls me
from a blue moon bath:
Her babe’s grown
wings. Fingers warped,
& withered into meat
hook talons. He beats
round the house
like a starved, colicky
harpy.
Just now—
He’s crashed through
the kitchen. Snatched
up the four-slice toaster.
Falcon dive drops it,
hot in the bathtub
right between her legs.
He wasn’t. Pammie. Listen.
It wasn’t plugged in. He didn’t plug it in.
That has to mean
something.
Doesn’t it?
Pamela Yuen
Pamela Yuen was born to Hong Kong migrants in rural Ontario. She is an expressive writing facilitator with the Toronto Writers’ Collective and serves as an executive member of Canadian Authors – Toronto . Her spoken word can be heard through Brickyard, an audio/visual hub of Brick Books.
She is on Twitter: @peameala