Originally published in Mass Poetry’s Hard Work of Hope series, June 2020.
At CVS, a woman toes the tape line
marking a safe six feet from where I stand.
She stares at me slantwise, suspicious,
and turns away when I meet her gaze.
Mom chats with the grocery checkout girl,
thanking her for her service. I reach out
for the bag of groceries. She hands it over
and walks away to speak to her supervisor.
At Super 88, all the cashiers wear masks
weeks before the white store workers do.
I wonder whom they’re meant to protect,
whom they’re trying to appease.
Internet comments from the scared and angry,
masked by anonymity: Enjoy your bat soup.
Why would anyone want to live in China.
If Trump dropped a nuke on them, I’m not saying I’d vote for him…
Others try to defend us, or those they deem
just as American as the rest of us. I think of my grandmother,
herded into an internment camp so white people
could feel safer. I think of my grandfather, how he wore
a button that said I’m Chinese, not Japanese, because white people
couldn’t tell the difference. I think of how
when masks cover our noses and mouths,
no one sees a smile—
only the tilt
of our inscrutable, black eyes.