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Writer's picture: Ying LeYing Le

White starfish on gravel
Photo by Ying Le

I am Chinese in America, so

I have the virus.

Micro parasites with blunt, clustered

flowers bloom destruction and delusion.

An explosion of atoms caused their existence. 


I am Chinese in America, so

I do not belong here.

Told you so, in 1882,

Our clanking, rusty pipe dream for acceptance attacked and

excluded, with the flourishing wave of a fountain pen,

Enacted in an Act.


I am Chinese in America, so

I deserve to die.

Smothered by a hallucinating shroud of fear,

slaughtered raw. My ancestors

bleed scarlet from the drought in their veins,

liquid dreams soaked in the concrete drain.


I am Chinese in America, so

I am next.

With a roving target on my back,

despair pooling between my defeated shoulder blades, I am


Next to stand tall, speak up, act out.

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