GRACE MARIE LIU
MOONCAKE
Confession: I’ve ripped the stars off your tablecloth
only once
but lost fingernails in the process.
Became complimentary.
Stuffed myself with lotus paste
& yolk as if I
was dying.
Although, sooner or later, I knew I’d lose
to you, America.
Here, nylon cushioning
premature sweat before daylight.
How many mirrors
should I place over a face for your
spangled pride.
I want to become beautiful,
pledged golden girl.
America, I’m sorry
& I’m sold
to your mouth,
slick as deboned eel.
Listen, how about I take you out
to dinner. Dimsum, twelve o’clock
& we’ll run your pockets dry
under the piss-yellow lamp,
our hands shiny
with grease or blood.
All these years, I’ll say,
and I still can’t lose the weight.
Grace Marie Liu is a Chinese American poet from Michigan. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Kissing Dynamite, Vagabond City Lit, The Minnesota Review, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter at @graceewrites, where she tweets about almond butter and occasionally her writing.