on a photograph by Andrea Gluckman

中 This is an American image,
学 and I was willing to bet a fifty

恩 printed with the face of a white leader

节 on the place, before I even saw
爸 the caption on the photographer’s site —

携 Elaine, Arkansas, which I always
猪 thought ended on a sibilant —

首 until I saw a dark finger on a white screen —

而 So I am confusion. Why is this one
归 Kansas, but this one is not

上 Arkansas. America explain,
桌 explain what do you mean

时 Arkansaw! — cutting out just

男 as her tone rises, the map with
童 the states in pale coral, lilac, sunshine

凝 and viridian shaking under her hand —

视 half the fun of the Vine was her heavy accent,
颈 her English with the wings not

断 broken, but perhaps awkwardly folded
之 like a fine umbrella gaunt from

处 the weather — and so I wonder if my father

杏 ever felt the blow of a laughing gaze —
瓣 but then, he seems beyond

与 humiliation, his face is as solid
截 as a city wall. I was ashamed

面 of him — nor could I forgive
幼 my own Arkansas, with the sibilant,

脸 a state of unity I have never known —

映 I guess I wanted to be a real American —

腥 nor have I known a living Elaine,
狞 though as a child I longed for

貌 the luminous name, and wrote her into

密 my story of two children at sea,

森 sleeping in one bed, drifting far
林 from a world at war, safe and free

里 only because the ship was hostile,
霓 tousled in the sun like lace, and at night,

绿 I traced her pale shape in the dark,

苍 because she was my wind and moon —

蝇 and I never mentioned my own skin,
组 but in the dream, I wasn’t yellow.

成 I gaze now at this American image,

云 taken by a white photographer —
团 and there seems to be no place for me here,

盘 in the fields that have taken on
绕 the roughness of brocade,

堂 gilded, not yellowed —

皇 and the heavens that almost
黑 reach blackness at the edge,

化 ravaged by whiteness torn
猪 like polyester fiber —

首 yet if I were there, I would
正 have wanted to run from my car,

站 longing for the barn shining

店 like a worthless coin minted
中 with our third president,

着 turned to a blinding angle —

白 while a song by Lana del Rey came on,

的 the pale singer, my Elaine —

白 though what I long for now is not
女 the whiteness falling from the walls,

走 but the darkness inside,
过 where I can call my own name.