[This piece won First Prize in The Diversity Story Cultural Writing Competition - Middle School]
BY HALLIE DONG
they curl outwards,
stretching themselves to bask in the sun,
soft grooves twined upon aged skin,
a parentheses which whispers,
quietly,
after a sentence.
they’re the rays of sun,
flickering,
warm,
the golden shafts melting into
the sweet aroma of noodles.
Eat,
Chī bà,
she says, her
still-young hands
rest gently on my shoulder.
Don’t wait until it’s cold,
Bié děng dào liáng le.
my awkward Chinese follows,
Thank you,
xie xie,
I say,
imagining their chuckles in their minds.
Dumb American child,
the monster in my head cooes,
who can’t even speak.
but instead of laughing,
she smiles, and asks me if
I want a
Pear,
in awkward English.
the corners of my mouth tug upwards,
pulled by an invisible string,
and I say
Yes, of course,
my mouth turning into the corners
of her eyes,
which radiate and extend
into the smile of the sun.
