KALEIDO ZINE

I open my body to you to show you yellow flaps of torn skin. Show you chrysanthemum: here is where my mother made me in her image. Dark hair blood-streaked. Ancestral white hands exacting violence, gripping and ripping black thread. Centuries overcome by the glimmering harbour where you caress it like silk. We’ve come a long way. My china skin when stripped could cover two cold bodies, together our intestines encircle the earth. The bloody truth Ghosts omit: you no longer blink twice at my small eyes. My narrow chest. You, content with the content it holds. You say my name the way it is written. My body held in your hands like maobi at quivering fingertips. Dripping ruby ink. We walk down pathways hand in hand and nobody
puts oiled guns up my red skirt. Whisper porcelain. Whisper wo ai ni. In bed the poppies blooming drowsy and hanging limp from heaven.

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Keiyi is an avid reader who enjoys writing in her free time. She runs two publications on Substack, mainly “overthink it.” and “The Uncanny Poetry Club”, and her poems have been published in Paloma Magazine and Bread and Butter Magazine.