c/w: sexual assault and death
I let the wind clear the street,
road lights creased the darkness
and here lies her naked body,
crumpled up into a shriveled
hibiscus. I approached,
a flower covered dress collapsed
beside her; I can see how the drawstrings
her unfolded, petal by petal,
until the sacred place
that was supposed to sing to a man’s touch
Except this time it screamed.
It’s from reading
the palette of bruises that glazed
wind swiveled through my fingers as
I pick her up, my hand
cradling spilled hair.
She once told me that her
Chinese mother never wanted
her in New York, that one’s
skin color screams
to the entire country
the origins of plague.
Yixuan Wu is a Chinese national who currently lives in the Philippines. His works have appeared on The Rising Phoenix Review and One Art Poetry. He hopes to spread awareness of Chinese heritage and culture through his poems.