Time to depart. Goodbye.
Umbrellas of yellow facts
Made in China.
I leave with boxes, cash squirreled in a wallet,
an adventure or three.
People fight for a tomorrow
I read about an ocean away.

In Greater China,
my single lid eyes,
fair skin, black hair
pass Go, collect $200.
English, the catch and release.
An American, neither Quiet nor Young.
Western, not blonde. Asian/American.
The Great Wall enslaves.
A script gouges poverty.
Sons as legends? Unbroken history?
I’m a woman, a heretic,
sharing a peach of sugar and stars.
I am your stranger.

My home burns and weeps.
Hands up. Hands up.
The guns! The guns!
Children shot.
Black lives built the dreams,
yet nightmares haunt those who yearn to love.
My land is smallpox blankets, whippings,
ghettoed men who laundered without love.
Ancestors dying for pineapples and cane.
Bloodied hands and scarred backs.
Lynching, an innocent’s reward.
Women scrawl for cents,
rainbows fear storms,
children flee through deserts under starry nights.
My body yearns for flight.

Umbrellas Open. Hands Up.

Across oceans under snapping umbrellas,
I hold hands, remembering how the heart splits 

into one thing as we live another,
humbled by the brave,
by those who dare the thread of now.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!