The daughter is studying math in her room.
Her eyes float in silence, entranced.  The womb
of stillness buoys and numbs her thoughts.  She blinks.
A snake of linking numbers coils and slinks
into her mind.  Controlled, she knows her world.
Her mother raps on the door.  She hears, hurled,
a response from within, Later, not now,
but enters with blunt force to disallow
the daughter's wish.  She holds, then casts a gift
on top of the girl's books.  She drops a swift,
imperious, Here —for you and then turns
to leave.  She glances at the gift and turns
a page.  I didn't ask for it.  It's so
expensive.  Please return it.  Mèi1will know
and scream 'not fair'.  The reasons for such need
to reject her gift wrests her calm.  Her greed
for preservation sparks indignant wrath
to erupt onto her.  You have no path,
no thanks, no reason2.  Don't take it.  I'll give
it away.  The fire will fade; land will live
in waste.  She was prepared and she, controlled.

-Tsai