LGBTQ+ Poem: 贪吃– gluttony, by Joann Xie

When I was five years old

on Halloween,
hoarse from cackling and laughter,
my throat pinched as Mama showed
pictures of wide-open mouths
full of black, decaying teeth,
throwing out the sweets
I strained my arms to carry,
filling my bag with unsalted walnuts.
脑子会长聪明的 (your mind will grow sharp),
Mama placed a brain-shaped
nut on my palm.

As Mama swirled the rice bowl
under the kitchen faucet,
water filling with white grime,
I saw pieces of chipped, rotten teeth
blending between grains of brown rice,
a premonition of my gluttony.

When my tooth began to wobble,
I dumped my rice into the sink,
pressing the mush down the drain,
my stomach churning.

自豪– pride

When I was ten years old,
after I’d won my first piano contest,
Mama fought all praise with a constant response
of 哪里，哪里 (not at all, not at all).

When I asked Mama why she wasn’t proud,
she told me of a girl
who embraced applause,
grew arrogant in return.
One day, she collapsed,
face cold and gray,
yellow, stringy flesh
dribbling out her ears and mouth.

When her stomach was cut open,
there was a rind of white winter melon,
seeds sticky from freshness.

Each performance,
my hands felt stickier on the grand piano,
until one day,
the keys I had memorized were gone,
replaced with black seeds
placed uniformly on white melon guts.
Mama’s voice rang in the dissonance,
I was overconfident,
and now a seed was firmly planted inside me.

Mama refused to give me glances
until we reached the parking lot.
When I begged her,
the piano disappeared,
turning into the inside of a melon,
her voice cracked with anger,
你太天真 (you are too naive).

I didn’t cry until we returned home,
clutching my stomach
in the upstairs bathroom.

欲望– lust

When I was eighteen years old,
after I left for college,
Mama bid me
bring back a pale-skinned,
slim-faced Chinese boy.
你必须想未来 (you must think of your future),
masking her demand
with a caring tone.

The summer I came home,
Mama showed me pictures
of a family friend now engaged
to a man with glasses and neat hair
wearing a silver necklace and cross.

I couldn’t tell Mama of the girl
with long, rosy hair
round, sunny cheeks
she was amazed
by my white smile,
didn’t despise or fear
black, crumbling teeth or
the melon in my stomach,
caressing me to sleep,
held in the safety of my dreams.

“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your
son.”
– Luke 15:21

Growing inside me,
a baby-toothed smile,
a girl I always dreamed of holding,
pressing my skin to her cheeks.

Grains of white rice swirl
between my fingers,
a young girl bobs in the water,
fragile and wavering.
How can I save her from drowning?

My phone rings four times,
a soft gasp seeping through the line

妈妈，我还能回家吗？(Mama, can I still come home?)