Yellowface
I don't know when the flowers first began to yellow,
But I know that now they are withered
Like my grandmother's fingertips.
I can recall in vivid amber the sudden
Sourness her springrolls would take on at school,
Boys asking if I ate mutts,
Some confused having all seen my white father.
I packed a fork in discretion,
And picked out the star anise I couldn't swallow,
Like Mum had never made me yellow,
Yellow, hollow.
I stared at the white boys winning the race
And pretended we were one and the same.
They never looked back at me except to laugh,
So I moulded myself from the bombshells they left behind.
I don't remember my Cantonese name,
Or my dead grandfather.
They called me a white guy in yellowface,
And I took it like a compliment.
The mirror whispered yellow...
_Yelled_ yellow.
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow
Till its meaning shallowed
And all I saw was nothing:
White.
I never felt Asian enough for the Chinese kids at school,
So I snapped my chopsticks in half
And chewed on splinters.
I erased the yellow from my color palette till
I started seeing red, and breathing blue.
Now my canvas is painted in layers of white,
And it's been years since I've felt sunlight,
But I guess I'm finally homesick.
The tiger in me says it's far too late
To turn back to the moon.
- ๐๐ฐ ๐๐ฐ, ๐ ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ด ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ค๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ด.