Ana, your father says,
where is the vase
your grandma gave to me?

You look at him
with your large eyes.
Not seen it, maybe

it is in the lounge
with the others?
You say.

No, I have looked there,
it is not there,
he says,

then I do not know,
Papa, you say,
looking away,

trying not to show it
in your big brown eyes,
your childlike lies.

He sighs, doesn't look
in your eyes, maybe
knowing somehow,

that you broke
the family heirloom,
but not wanting

to push it too far,
waits until you regain
your conscience to say,

if not now,
then some other day.