Her age a secret,
but she can whistle
at passersby
to ask without
the weighed words,
to smile
the pouted price,
her lips tinged
but unable
to articulate it right,
vermillion.
When her dad
disappeared,
her mom followed,
no trace
but their absence,
leaving only
what she can recall,
wooing the wind
on a hot day,
steeping safflowers
for tea.