By Katelyn Deng
for Chinese New Year, we fold dumplings
with ground pork, scallions, &
a side of thinly sliced judgment.
three generations, at this table,
could dissect me with a glance.
i am the ball of dough between
my two palms: rolling. shrinking.
pinched & prodded & pummeled
two sizes smaller because
our worth lies in a fistful
of soft flesh. Another set of
fluorescent digits on the scale.
i pretend i am the spaces
between their breaths, as powdery
as the flour coating our fingertips;
no one is fooled.
they would boil a girl down
till she’s digestible, carve
her away into spit-shined,
grease-drenched bones.
the perfect nothingness.
tonight, i will stand in front of
a cracked mirror for the tenth
time, staring until the glass warps
just for me. i trace the kaleidoscope
of a girl who has forgotten where
her skin ends & air begins.
tucked tight, folded in, & sealed
with a smear of tap water.
in this house, fulfillment is sin.
Katelyn Deng is a Chinese-American writer from Fremont, California. Her poetry and prose tend to center around the themes of mother-daughter relationships, bridging generational gaps, and exploring identity combined with culture. Her works have been recognized by prestigious competitions such as the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and the New York Times. In her free time, Katelyn enjoys experimenting with new recipes in the kitchen, reading works by contemporary Asian-American authors, and exploring local parks.
Hot Pot Magazine 