What If I Do Not Always Want To Talk About My People

Sick of talking about yellow
Myself as an abstract object
A flag, all red, no wind, limp
White pole illuminated in the sun
My forefathers came from emperors

Dragons, up north, somewhere
I didn’t know, all I saw was the ocean
Salt in the wound, full of shit
This was meant to be about something
Else – love, maybe, or the failing

Education system, good grief, God–
Instead I have no language
Blinded by a western sunrise
Silenced by a native tongue
That would never be my mother

One of these days, I want to tell you
About Chang’e; not the goddess
Just an ordinary woman
Whose name means something
But not everything to me

 

 

 

 

Yiwei Chai is a high school student currently residing in Sydney. Her work has previously appeared in Moonsick Magazine and The Vignette Review. 

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