Bright
A colourless picture of my Mom and a newborn she holds
stare in opposite directions of the lens.
The newborn's hair stands straight to attention,
focused like its eyes, able to pierce armor.
Its mouth, a small bow
the tongue would later learn to shoot arrows from,
is arched open, unsure if exposed is good.
The baby clings to my Mother's white v-neck,
cradled between her and its blanket like a fetus in an
egg.
My Mother's demeanor glows love and relief
as her shoulder's relax to form soft curves,
a canopy enveloping the small infant she holds.
I pause and take the photo to the kitchen
where a much older Mom tells me the baby is me.
I look back at the photo and notice how
my Mother's gaze falls softly on what I imagine
is the road ahead of her,
bright and clear in this moment.
Miss Universe
A woman,
dressed in lucky red,
bears a white ribbon reading Hong Kong.
The white women behind her smiles,
almost mischievously,
looking around at her adversaries.
Miss Hong Kong displays herself,
desperately wanting the title to Miss Universe,
as she rests one hand on her hip,
never removing it,
walking like a cardboard cut-out.
I imagine I am that women.
Fill me with plastic and venom,
give me a white ribbon with some name from some country I
suppose
I belong to. Let me chisel my face with talc and lead
and if I get poisoned, let me get surgery to look like
Miss America.
Fill me with plastic and tell me
I will stay young forever.
(This took a weird turn. I didn't give myself enough time
to revise it, so there it is in the raw.)
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