Friday, June 10, 2011

somehow, the longan is bitter on my tongue

By Elizabeth Yu
Age 13, Grade 8

Gold Medal


when I was five years old
my mother dipped my feet
in a warm bath of blood and herbs
I remember her tears like rain
splashing about my feet
like a timid absolution
“this is mother love,” she whispered
her hands shaking as she
gently curled my toes under my feet
and cracked my arch in half
my scream shattered the peace
of the two white doves
nesting in the peach tree
outside the rice paper windows
they flew away
never to be seen again