Lumps of Gold

by Sarah Deng, '27

Artwork by Amy Ge

under this golden moon, back bowed over, pale fingers touch its imitation, the gesture so readily familiar. the ripples cascade outward, never-ending, carrying a promise of change. a sorry reflection of a great ocean wave. as the hand withdraws, 24 karats glint with muted light. a belly swollen with fruit, a tender, fragile treasure dangling in front of Eden.  

he had always liked his mother’s ring. fascinated by the way it caught light, flickering like a candle. the purity. he followed her to the waters that last time and dipped a pinky toe in. the tides crashed and roared. reached to the sky and slashed deep scars on the moon. then washed away any trace. baba found him thumbing the smooth gold flesh. 

the room is aflame again. the smoke stifling. stifling enough to extinguish his light. stifling so that tears cracked out of screwed-shut eyes. the 9 and the 6 brand themselves through the paper and onto the desk. not enough. the flames devour the paper. it knows what’s next. it curls up and turns limp. blackened. the ring mashes into itself leaving a deformed lump. i’m sorry baba.

no trace of smoke nor lash of heat. silence shrieking its brutal hymn. the lumpy artifact perches on the sill. cool moonlight floats through the window, silver and silver, yet a sliver of gold, caressing his face with a soft hand. he flinches. the soft shadow like the suffocating smoke. 

each day, each hour, each second the shadows linger more, loitering like brazen highschoolers. elementary to middle. middle to high. high to—. big black letters R and E and J carve into the paper. gouging down to the bone. deeper even, uncovering a lacerated glint of gold, twisted and scarred. not again. he looks around, dread pooling, dripping down to his feet. all for nothing. shadows swirl about, stabbing lovely moonrises and flickering candlelight, the mirages rippling away into blackness. he doesn’t know. the window is open. the black night welcomes him, holding up a hand in greeting. like a white flag being hoisted to the top, he reaches his pale fingers enthroned in battered gold and leans in. the ocean swallows him without a ripple.

the gold ring breaks thin

parents forge with heavy hands

dreams drown, shadows bloom