The Asian Girl’s means of communication to a room in which she is the only (Asian Girl)
is her pair of big, expressive eyes.
The eyes that narrow to slits
that invite captivity and derision
because we want them minus
the brain that connects to them.
The kaleidoscope eyes that betray
nothing except careful sex appeal
— sex appeal, as in an opportunity to overpower and grab,
with the exact amount of equal pushback from
to keep conquerors from shores
— and behind that, a void.
This is the silent film Asian Girl, opening her eyes in a room without people.
Trapped, because whatever she opens to express herself is:
a purse turning upside down, spilling human, mistaken for a gumball machine. So it goes.
She closes every orifice and makes her fingers dance,
hoping for a way in.
She seals herself up and opens her eyes at her own thoughts,
curls infinitely into herself,
hoping for a singularity.