4 am hollowed-eyed
mom. Double shifted
mom. Mom of 牛肉湯
Mcdonalds & takeout pizza
every time we wanted to feel
more American. Mom, whose hands
held me when I got my first period,
who followed my tear streaked cheeks
how to whittle my knobby story
into something extraordinary.
The double mastectomies,
the chemo, the chemo,
the chemo. Silent drives
on the way back from the hospital.
The slow mourning.
I already knew.
Mom of gnarled syntaxes,
ESL classes, a vibrato
of a tongue lost in translation.
Mom who let Dad kiss her
with his anger, because
this is how a man should love
because
he was drunk, honey.
his fists arcing like whiplash
against her cheeks.
don’t ever become like me.
She was the tear streaked
comet & I’m her tail — boundless
grief, full of ashes, dust &
hatred of the city and its
messy glory. The fleeting
light. Mom,
whom I love.
Or loved.
Sophia Wong is a high school sophomore in Los Angeles, California. She is a multi-disciplinary artist and always enjoys expressing herself, whether through photography, poetry, or film. She has been recognized on a national and international level by Scholastic Arts and Writing, YoungArts, and Women’s Founder’s Network. In her free time, she enjoys going on long runs, obsessively learning about astronomy, and listening to the newest gay pop.