“Mother Tongue” by Dahlia Peeters
dragonheads grace wisteria-cloaked pagodas
their red centers beating blind, dynamite hymns in tempo
dancers with fans profess a lullaby to restless ginkgo.
from yellow skin spill guts of mango,
scraping the bamboo bones of two nations hollow,
carving them into one solitary skeleton.
i read the seaweed drifting in my miso soup like tea leaves.
you have surrendered the motherland,
unable to discern a body from your people.
a whisper, a promise, mine in clammy fingers.
if i could pray to yue lao, devout seamster of love,
entwining myself in his red thread,
my heart would kindle hollow lanterns.
but mandarin syllables glue teeth and tongue
to blackened nectar of open-oyster tapioca
and yue lao has renounced all daughters
of european blood.
a chrysanthemum to his lips, he sings:
yang-drenched girl,
resurrect the language that washed ashore.
let the mortality outlive you, and unfold
into a deathless crane of devotion.
About the Author
Dahlia is a current high school sophomore in California. As an Asian American living in a white community, she learned to behold the privileged capacity of negligence. Now, she reclaims her heritage by studying Chinese philosophy and Asian folklore. In her spare time, she tutors English to underserved communities, composes songs on the piano, sings karaoke, practices photography, or watches K-dramas.