"I'm not a beggar!"
My mother laughs this line
at a lady trying to rip us off
a pure silver choker.

"I'm not a beggar!"
My mother half-jokes,
Wrapping the silver choker in a thick plastic ziploc
after she cut the price down to zero profit

"I'm not a beggar."
My mother's crying now.
Salty tears on her cotton nightgown
as we think of the life we lived before.
A whole life away from the rotting wooden table
we laid a cloth upon
to sell our old wares.

The glitz and glamour
the gala dinners
the pageants
and diamond-encrusted models.

It all came down because of me.

I wanted to go to an international school
I wanted to live on an island
I wanted a castle
I wanted a dog
I wanted everything.

It's my fault.
It's all my fault.
All my fault.

I'm sorry.
I am so, so sorry.