A Country Rag

The Visit

Mei-Lei's hair is small and straight.
She sits demurely on the floor,
a present without English.
Gary leans to take her hand,
pats the space beside him.
How many years, he tries to ask,
open-palmed, then rolling.
She doesn't understand.
I am, he says, points to chest
and all his fingers splay
once, twice, again.
Gary looks, repeats and checks.
Her eyes lighten some.
Head to side, shoulders shrugged,
he motions to Mei-Lei.
And you?
A gesture toward her breast.
She stretches fingers minus thumbs.
Mei-Lei frowns on minion fists,
redirects the digits
one by one.
Eight.
Too young.