Shoshanna

You’ve learned not to correct substitute teachers.

 They’re only here for one day anyways.

Why bother?

Your peers laugh when your are called.

They are the ones who correct 

substitutes

teachers on the first day

each other.

But you’re used to it.

Does that mean you like sushi?

Every time you introduce yourself. 

A new joke. A new tease.

A new butchering mispronunciation. 

“Am I saying that Indian enough for you?”

My name is not play dough. 

It is not for you to fit it to the shape of your own mouth,

a mouth used to annas, and maggies, and elizabeths.

Zoes and katelyns. 

My name is not for your convenience.

It was a gift from my parents

that blooms with 

meaning, culture, and beauty.

I will not let my rose be withered

by erasure and ignorance.

So say my name.

Say it right. 

Middle School

In sixth grade you wanted to be her.

A perfect nose, freckles. 

She was brown like you,

but prettier.

The same kids who called her pretty,

called your nose big. 

As tears streamed down your face,

you studied the protrusion in the bathroom mirror.

In seventh grade you wanted to be her. 

Long blonde hair. White skin, blue eyes.

A button nose.

Everyone loved her.

You loved her. 

She was perfect. 

You just had short black hair and

A big nose. 

In eighth grade you wanted to be her.

Yes she was brown, but she had green eyes.

Yours were boring, the color of mud and dirt. 

Everyone always loved her eyes.

You would stand next to her while she said “thank you” 

to the repeated compliment.

A broken record that wouldn’t play for you.

Pancit

Ewwww!

What is that?

It looks like worms!

It smells!

Those don’t go together!

You can’t eat rice for breakfast!

It’s too sticky

too stinky

too slimy

for them. 

The spices, the flavors, the texture.

They prefer

Subdued, salty, simple

They’ve never had asian food 

besides boxed chinese.

Panda Express. 

 They don’t really like

“ethnic food”.

I’ll stick with soy sauce and rice,thanks. 

But they think you’re weird,

because you’ve never had buttered noodles. 

So you don’t pack a lunch to school.

You ask your mom to order pizza

instead of cook

when your friends come over.

Talking on the phone

Your friends laugh.

What are you saying?

That’s so weird.

It sounds like gibberish. 

Are you speaking with your mom?

How come I never hear you speak it?

Because this is how you react. 

You’re Jewish?

Every Christmas,

Santa got her this.

Santa got him that.

You had to sing 

in a language you didn’t know.

Begging to hold the candle,

The most important part.

Because you didn’t have

a tree,

cookies,

patterned pajamas,

photos on the lap

of an overweight man at the mall.

You didn’t jump on your parents’ bed

At 6 in the morning

Because you just couldn’t wait.

You had to go to school.

Come home.

Stand by till sunset.

Once dark,

you could peer into the fire.

Almost burn your fingers

on the melting wax

You don’t get to go on 

Easter egg hunts.

No painting eggs.

No waking up early in the morning

to search for hidden gems

of creamy chocolate and colorful beans.

Your friends don’t go 

to the services of your Bat Mitzvah.

That part is too boring.

They don’t know

to bring gifts to the party.

You didn’t know the songs they sang

At the school christmas party

But they didn’t know.

Because you have dark skin

and raven straight hair.

You don’t look jewish.