my parents won’t buy me a webkinz but
i can look for one at the thrift store, long as
it’s under $3. so i’ll spend each trip there planted
by bins teeming with industrially-washed stuffed
animals, scouring for a coveted 8 digit
code. at age 7, i’ll already be solving my own
problems, setting the golden-edged example for my
younger sisters as they browse the books.
my parents won’t buy me a webkinz but
i can have a neopet for free. so i’ll spend all 45 minutes
of my weekly computer time catching
scoops on Ice Cream Machine, never getting past
level 3. at age 8, i’ll already be on edge, my fingers
transforming to angry claws after a single mistake.
my mom says she’ll buy me a webkinz after
my surgery if she finds one in the hospital
gift shop. i’ll drift out of anesthesia unevenly,
my first words every time i wake: “did you
get me a webkinz?” my mom will reply over and
over, “no, but i got you this plush cat
instead.” i’ll swallow my disappointment and
thank her, then tumble back into artificial sleep
again. at age 9, i’ll already know to keep my
threadbare edges tucked tightly to my chest
like my favorite blanket.
my parents won’t buy me a webkinz but
can’t i just be happy with what i
have? my dad gives a sermon about how he
doesn’t want the best for his children. when he
was growing up his allowance was only
35 cents. my mom is a scratched record
that loops over, “hardship builds character”
instead of “i love you.” trust her, i don’t
even want to hear what she went through
when she was growing up. by now, i’ll already
know to box up my dreams, heave them up to
the attic, and abandon them with the dust. by
now, i’ll just wish that if i fall through the gaps
between joist edges, i’ll land on a
webkinz at the bottom.
Kieran Fu is a queer, wasian, and neurodivergent poet currently rooted in Chicago. Their work centers on love, loss, family, and belonging. You can find some of their work in the Passionfruit Review, Oyster River Pages, and on instagram @kierxpoems.
