Weathered faces beam across the table
as steam rises from bamboo baskets
which hold the treasures of Ha Gao,
Ha Churn, and that weird gray stuff
that looks like cut up brains.
(It’s actually cow intestines.)
Tea spills over cups as liquor
rides a rush through myveins.
They laugh at the dropped food
from shaky chopsticks,
they laugh at the As
that should have been A plusses.
Peanuts dipped in sesame sauce
is redundant, like dipping my black curly hair
into my chinky eyes.
They are made of the same damn thing.
Full blooded cousins tell me I don’t belong,
I never have, with my lack of an accent,
my lack of demurring, my lack
I’ll tell you what I fucking lack.
That “oh whatever you want to do,
is fine, honey” that springs
to their lips as soon as
That “I’m really good at math
but I can’t pronounce my R’s,
ha ha ha”
That hate for the mutts,
of those people who had the balls
to escape from the misogynistic culture
by marrying into another, slightly less
That Asian culture,
where a man brings home the bacon
and the women tries everything
available to her to stay
I’ll take my curly off jet black hair,
my big tits and my handful ass,
my lack of accent and lack of self-hate,
my light wood eyes…
I’ll stay pretty,
but I won’t be stupid.