Helen Gu

女

Twisted into herself—rage with a softened tilt.

She knelt on the ground while the man 男

worked the fields. Nighttime, he wraps the strong 力

fist around her flesh. Claws fingernails into her

incompletion until she is soundless and unbroken.

As daughter, as gift. As sharp four strokes

on discarded paper :her breasts atrophy into a remnant.

When you grow up, you will be a good 妻. 妻

a sin 肀 女, as in man grabs woman’s hair

like a leash. She is too overripe 婁 to consume,

shields her face from the wholeness of motherhood 母:

the incandescent warmth, milky under moonlight.

The unborn future, restless and fragile

as a hot-mouthed infant in her palms.

Will you be good 好 instead of evil 姦? Fade

into the shadow of a son 子? Too improper 妄

to die—the womb widens to shatter.

Helen Gu is a 16-year-old poet based in California. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Eucalyptus Lit, Eunoia Review, Scapegoat Review, and Neologism, among others. She is an alum of the Iowa Young Writers' Studio and has been recognized by the Alliance of Young Artists and Writers, Santa Clara County Youth Poet Laureate Program, Bay Area Creative Foundation, and more. She is the editor-in-chief of Winged Penny Review. When she is not writing, you can find her obsessively singing opera arias, perfecting her homemade boba drinks, or re-reading Pride and Prejudice for the hundredth time.