Variations on the History of the People’s Republic of China i. Sometimes the skin retreats into the bone, jagged edges of tongue tasting the summer heat. ii. Imagine the ownership (or lack of) a sunken statue turning whispers behind closed conversations and blood against blood. iii. The first time I saw my father cry, there were ghosts in his lungs. iv. When the star-crossed, green-costumed women dance on skeletons My father averts his eyes like they’re the decapitated deer. v. On my passport every stamp sounds like yeye’s warnings, every printed word the broken English of my mother, every second of silence the wrath of old men. Abecedarian for the Chinese Immigrant All you can take are your Blouses and your tongue; Children & rice cakes should be Dropped into the sea to the Very last one. You will Find new building blocks to reassemble your Girls, new letters to construct your Houses – oh wait – It’s the other way around. Jackets you’ll buy at the K-mart, but only if it’s Local. You cannot carry your Mama nor your baba No matter how Oversized…
Bridging Two Cultures: Emma Wang’s Fierce Poetry
