Bryan Thao Worra-Anthology

Anthology

If I will not
write of white rice

or shades of yellow
they tell me there is no

place for me.

Without a Mekong river of tears
trailing down a mountain of
black hair and stale sushi

I will not be Asian enough
to fit into this volume
of Eastern voices for Western coffeehouses.

You no good if you no talk like

cereal box-tops about transitions and the old country,
or grandma and her wizened fortune-cookie wisdom

amid a comic bevy of oh-so-tragic
hard-working, heartbreaking restaurateurs

and cunning launderers
wandering a crooked Chinatown street.

They will tell you-

You may have been an English major
but you’d best keep these nonsense thoughts private
and give the audience what they want for god’s sake.

Don’t rock the boat, people!

A woman walked up to me recently and asked me
“What is the name for your yellow hue?”

I said “Color me Pissed.”