Welcome, with Hand Gestures
In 1957 Bronson Avenue
stepped out to greet her.
Bunched at the curb near
the corner — a tangle of scrawny
limbs, missing front teeth,
sunburnt hair.
Looking back, she wonders if they
had rehearsed. Or was it spontaneous
humiliation?
Did the parents know?
Ignore them, her mom advised
after. Only sticks and stones
can break bones. Words won’t
really hurt you.
In unison they’d chanted
with gusto and snickers, with mean
pointy fingers pulling back
at their faces slant eyes.
Ching Chong Chinaman Ching
Chong Chinaman Ching Chong
Chinaman
Those were the days unfiltered –
hissy, jagged, rude. Skulking
in the shadows, they now
snarl back around. So she walks,
she keeps walking like always,
eyes steadied forward and clear
slanted and smartened at every street corner,
the way whispers how to best go:
Flow kindness to all outcast Others.
Stand with souls to keep their
bones whole.
Raise fist as required.
Welcome the stranger at the end
of the block with words that heal,
not bleed.
(c) Deborah Jang. All rights reserved.
Shantih Journal, Summer 2018 Issue 3.1