the shadow of the tree drips black fruit on forest floor. fruit, sounding like water country in chinese, blooms from the mouth of my tai- po’s child. in the crook of the canopy’s armpit, she sucks on the peeled bark of a pine tree, lets the baby teeth on the white cracks of her knuckles; for the sound of tears can echo the dip of skin cradling bullet, and yet she pleads Lord please forgive me for my worldly needs. my tai-po was twenty when the japanese arrived in nanjing. she fled the city with a baby on her back and a stolen rosary her wrist, asking if the crime kindled the missed meaning of her prayers. and almost a century later, i worship the altar in my bathroom with the seat cocked up: uncovered the way some things, like open caskets, ought to be covered. please allow the water clouded with lunch to forgive me for the wood under tai-po’s tongue. for i have punched a hole in my esophagus. for i have stripped my stomach, inflamed my intestines, and prayed over the porcelain bowl. for i have unreckoned the same fruit that dangled over my tai-po a century ago. burning for cold water, i remember the funeral and her face with eyes closed throat closed lips closed over browning teeth. in my mouth, my gums hurt with acid. i wonder if chewing on tree had caused her decay, whether living off dead flowers for six weeks had metastasized her throat cancer into a carnivorous necklace. will the raw ridges of my gums give me mouth cancer? i imagine tai-po fingering her flaking beads. she told me they belonged to the neighbor who sold lao po bing to the japanese before he was crisped into the kind of ash that mists over grass, reminiscent of dew. so do forgive me for my throat probed into the shape of my finger. Your kingdom come unlike this fruit. so my tai-po shivers within the skeletal hold of shadow, bids baby to drink the sweat under her nail. she thirsts though her ruptured lips kiss the snow mounted over dirt. kneeling on bathroom tile, i feel the scrape of grout under my knees. Lord forgive me for how thirsty i am.
Josephine Wu is a sophomore at Georgetown University studying Culture & Politics, creative writing, and computer science. Her work has been featured or forthcoming in Humankind Zine, Bitter Fruit Review, and Kalopsia Literary Journal. When she's not reading or writing, she's probably finding the best iced chai latte or listening to Taylor Swift.
Comments