Angel Zhao

self-portrait as child trapped in a building collapse due to new year’s confetti

oh baby if the ceiling comes down know it was from a confetti blizzard
unleashed by the men in toques baby their hands are rough
and the toques are lime green with hazmat stripes
this time the dog still sits on its haunches
and we wait by the door together like christmas morning
when the tatami mat was the only thing between you
and the long-settled dust they will call the silence
magic a luxury in this world of city living
but baby they know nothing
of how the rats follow the headlights of a train
or how we have stood on that roof
and saw streets so gray they were chemtrails
baby you are asking why the sink refuses to drain
and I tell you that it’s god’s way
of telling us it could always be worse
baby when you climb out the fire escape
will you grab that photo of our mama from the dresser
and throw it out to test the landing get a feel for flesh on concrete
or is it just her maroon coat without a body in it
baby our mama is turning 55 this year
and that’s halfway of the halfway she must be so sorry
for the nights we spent half-out the window
thinking our body was half-magician and half-blown-away
for letting us see chemtrails thinking they were fighter jets
for letting us think her sorry meant nothing because time
is simply what you have when you’re counting
and my baby the 3-3-3 rule for survival tells you that
there is really not that much time at all.

Angel Zhao (赵安琦) was born in Xiamen, China, but lives in Vancouver, Canada. Her work has been recognized by the League of Canadian Poets, the New York Times, Poetry In Voice, and nationally by Scholastics Art and Writing Awards, amongst others. She is an alumna of the Kenyon Young Writers Workshop, Iowa Young Writers’ Studio, and the Adroit Mentorship. She is a co-Editor-in-Chief for Kerfuffle Lit and has the pleasure of reading for Flat Ink Magazine. She loves her long-distance friends and Sade.