Leaving for the Glue Factory

On Youtube, I watched as the Asian cop turned his back on George Floyd. 
American cities are burning now but the raccoon’s blonde assistant, a dog,

hasn’t seemed to notice. She still wishes me a happy morning every morning. 
Without skipping a beat, my trees continue to bear fruit every other day.

I haven’t watered my flowers in weeks, but I’m not worried because they can’t die. 
When Elmer, the lazy horse, told me that he wanted to move away, I was elated.

We had been neighbors for months, but he refused to give me his photo. He refused even after I
showered him with presents like

a gift wrapped coconut, a gift wrapped bidet, a gift wrapped calligraphy set, a gift wrapped
everything. Because of that, I was ready for us both to move on,

but after he put all of his belongings into cardboard boxes, I began to contemplate the severity of
my actions. He's not leaving for the glue factory is he?

When Covid-19 first came on the scene, Hong Kong citizens were afraid to continue protesting
in the streets. They turned to the idyllic second life

of Animal Crossing & started constructing virtual graveyards. Fruit trees accented signs
demanding independence, freedom, & justice for all.

Swiftly, China banned the game. Today, masked citizens are back on the ground marching from
Mong Kok to Tsim Sha Tsui.

Protesters in the states are learning from their tactics: they use umbrellas to shield one another
from pepper spray & wear gloves so they can toss tear gas canisters right back.

In Cantonese, protestors chant, “laam chau” which means “If we burn, you burn with us.” In
English, Roxanne Gay writes, “Doctors will find a coronavirus vaccine, but

black people will continue to wait for a cure for racism.” I think about how exhausted my black
brothers & sisters must be.

The other day, I was walking to Nook Market when Pango, a peppy anteater, pulled me aside &
said, “You don’t have to always be strong for others.

It’s okay to rest & take time for yourself!” I want to tell my loved ones the same thing, but I’m afraid of seeming insincere.

Would it sound trite if I told them I recognize their humanity?
Will they even believe me when our world has always said otherwise?

The raccoon reminds me that my mortgage is two million bells. I’m never going to be able to pay
it off. I’ll have to shake a million trees!

Nan, the normal goat, tells me about her love for journaling. Feeling dismayed by my debt, I sign
off from the game & try writing myself,

america is a narcissistic mother manipulating her children. she crowned us the model minority,
highlighting our success while ignoring our struggles.

she uses us as a weapon to criminalize, brutalize, & systematically beat down black & brown
bodies. through our silence, we have been complicit in upholding

a society that was created to uplift whites & only whites. through his silence, tou thao was
complicit in the killing of george floyd.

Later, I visited my island again. There’s a for sale sign in front of the plot of land where Elmer
used to live. Pango, Nan, & a smug pig named Chops

are congregated in front of the Residents Services building. They’ve formed a choir, crooning in
Animalese, sounding joyous yet mournful all at once.

They fertilized the Sacramento River Delta

After the white men killed my great-grandfather, they fertilized
the Sacramento River Delta with his corpse.

While his body became America’s property long before his death, 
his portrait still remains on the wall in our ancestral home.

It lives next to my great-grandmother’s depicting her at eighty and him
at eighteen (the last time they saw his face).

Located in the rural South, about an hour away from Hong Kong, the 
house is a time capsule. It has an altar, one candle holder,

a gun with no bullets, and plenty of ash. Next to it is a small shack for 
the kitchen built by my grandpa and uncle.

And, in-between those dilapidated walls is a window with two 
still-pristine flowers etched onto the glass.

According to Wikipedia, Southern Chinese laborers played an 
indispensable role in cultivating Northern

California’s agriculture. If it weren’t for their expertise, we wouldn’t 
have fresh pears or crushed grapes.

Maybe instead of visiting graves, my family should try wine tasting.

Who am I kidding? We don’t pay our respects now by visiting graves 
and we would never fit in at a winery.

We honor our ancestors by going to Costco, buying the largest bottle 
of Hennessy XO that they have

by the bulk and pouring one out every Lunar New Year.

Anyways, they say tai-gong sacrificed himself in hopes of bettering his 
family. They say the proof is in the pudding because

he sent back enough money for my grandpa to finish school. 
The pudding: my tai-gong died so that my college-educated,

civil engineer grandpa could live and watch his sons and daughter 
become farm hands for a country

that forbade them from following his footsteps.

ALISON ZHENG

Alison Zheng (吴静山 )’s work is published in or forthcoming from Francis House, The Rising Phoenix Review, and giallo lit. She has been featured in poetry performance venues such as Kearny Street Workshop. She has hosted and curated radio shows for KDVS 90.FM and BFF.FM. She is a Scorpio Sun/Pisces Moon.