by June Gehringer
i am peeling steaming taro from a succulently congealed brick of jasmine rice,
at Golden Mountain,
amongst the Chinese. i am a gringo, and
i would say that i’m a gringo in Chinese
but i don’t know how.
i am walking over the fresh-laid sod
on the quad of the campus of the liberal arts institution
which i pay nothing to attend.
nobody who sees me is quite sure if they conceive of me as Chinese or Oriental or most
vaguely Asian but i am considered other, and
all the pale irises are mostly unaware of what am mixed race.
and i am on a street where a hundred rubber soles scuff greywalk, where
pupils do not align, for sake of convenience.
here, i am not considered anything.
i am not considered.
June Gehringer studies critical theory and creative writing at Loyola University New Orleans, where she also coordinates the 1718 Reading Series. Her work can be found in ashtrays all across the USA.