Mama sends me
For leafy, green
Qingcai today
Because she prefers it
Over Cabbage.
She'll boil it
With a little water,
Salt,
And garlic
From the garlic braid
Hanging from the
Oil-sticky
Kitchen window.
Then we'll eat
At the fold-out table
With the peeling top
And Mama will chew
Slowly
Because her teeth hurt.
I take
One thin blue not
From the food envelope
In Mama's drawer
While she goes over our rules:
DON'T TALK TOO MUCH,
BUT BE PLEASANT,
NOT AFRAID.
DON'T TALK TO STRANGERS
OR TELL THEM
WHERE YOU LIVE.
She doesn't need to tell me.
The rules are natural.
They seal me in
Like a second skin.
I couldn't behave differently
If I wanted to.
YOU ARE READING
Pink Butterfly
General FictionNobody knows i'm different, That my mother is american, That even though i look chinese, I'm american at heart.
