DANIEL ZHANG
American Skies Are Silver
and beneath their solstice my silver haired nanna kneads bitter
memories into bāozi¹, muttering myths of Icarus. He lived on
drunken seas, bathing in his father’s blood. Her own wings
of buckwheat wax beg to melt near heaven, must be ribbon-
tied to doorknobs each sunrise. Nanna claims Rockwell’s America
saved me, that my only victim is myself. But instead of gasoline
dripping from jasmine clouds, pooling in liquor fountains
where children play, mailmen slip poison to neighbors,
electric hemlock that tickles before it kills. Nanna says packaging
makes milk sweeter. She collects coins in milk cartons, believing
copper is American chocolate. I lied when I said stores would refuse
her pennies, smeared myself with weedkiller before hugging
her lavender perfume. That night I dumped fourteen
jars of honey down the drain, watched it lick copper
pipes while Nanna cried. Beads of nuòmǐ fàn² devour
the Rockwell paintings on her kitchen walls,
sweet napalm I’d never dare to drink.
¹Steamed buns
²Sticky rice
Previously published in Jet Fuel Review
Daniel Zhang is an Asian-American poet from Watchung, New Jersey. His poems have received Gold Medal recognition from the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and been published in Jet Fuel Review, and he was a semifinalist for the National Student Poets Program.