A Kind of Ritual By Jasmine Cui

A Kind of Ritual

After Albert Abonado

I know the language of my mother’s grief:
unfurled sheets, a door swinging wide,

onions left bleeding in the sink.
Each, a kind of signal fire

swollen sick with emotion.
Each, a sorrow she reduces

to gesture. Has no words for,
shrinks small as if to say

this tongue is not mine
Immigration taught her this:

your identity is a second skin —
it is usually convenient

to kill yourself. Shedding,
is as easy as speaking English.

Nightly, the pillows grow heavy with ghosts.
So many selves have yielded here

wrung thin like tripwires.
The body count rising as she struggles

with pronunciation —
cannot bear this language

that sounds like thrashing, that rinses her gums
into clean indents, into the imperfect tense —

which is to say that this has happened
before and this will happen again.

By Jasmine Cui

Biography:

Jasmine Cui is 18 years old and is majoring in Political Science, Economics, and Chemistry at SUNY Geneseo. She aspires to be like her parents who are first-generation Americans that fought an extraordinary battle for their place in this country. She is the founder and co-Editor in Chief of The Ellis Review.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s