SELF-PORTRAIT AS ANNA MAY WONG
Anna May Wong was the first Chinese-American film star in Hollywood as well as the first Chinese-American actress to gain international recognition.
I could’ve done worse—unleashed my
teeth & nails, watched him
clutch his pearls in a fit. Isn’t this who I’ve
wanted? To become, I mean.
Day in & day out, I sit when they
tell me to. I flutter my stick-lashes
when they think this body is for
touching, for window shopping
like white ladies do on Fifth Avenue.
Days hum by & my body cracks like porcelain.
Call me Dragon Lady, the Alaskan,
Princess Tiger Lily—a fetish delivered
right at their door. Handle with Care
but do not care for her, no, not like
the women who are seen. Which is to say,
I have never kissed without a pout
or snarled first without a bow.
The last time I called, my mother asked
Have you eaten yet? not Did you marry yet?
She too knows the price of yellow
blood. How it leaks from eyes, armpits
& every tender orifice.
Like the Yangtze River it never
dries—only erodes.
I told her yes, I’ve eaten with a white man
in a diner where all the waitresses
called me jie jie. They’re jealous of me,
Ma. I’m spitting with a vengeance.
I’ll be the first Oriental girl on your screen. What Ma doesn’t know
is I’ve lost the part to a white woman, again,
& she is so gorgeous
it kills.
Back home the white man caresses me,
asking for just a moment of my time. I play hard to get—
I am Dragon Lady, after all.
I think of my siblings, how I’ve allowed them
to read & write. Perhaps I wanted this,
to play the Part.
To fool nothing but my own happiness.
GHAZAL FOR RADIUM GIRLS
During World War I, hundreds of young women were exposed to radium, a deadly element that was used to produce watches and military dials in factories.
Today my right canine clattered
in the sink as I brushed my teeth ashine
& Michael wanted it. When I
twirl twirl twirled for him, the shine
of my shadow like a lucky penny. Said I’m
his girl, effervescent, softer than the moonshine
he swigs after dark. I donned my Sunday
dresses. Slicked them like hazard tape so they outshone
strip-white bar tops. I didn’t tell him this—
I remember nothing before the pain. Before rigidity, ashiness
sketched my face drawing blood as easily as
Michelangelo. Downstairs, he was shining
his new bayonet as I languished in my body’s
rain. I forgot to kiss him goodbye. If I were braver
I might’ve shown weakness but a girl must clock in
& out, so I return to work like a watch dial shiny
but lapsed in time. I call it a lollipop, my mouth
gummier with each lick. Michael calls me his shining
light at bars, I refract off glass rims as they
fill & refill. Don’t we all want to outshine
someone’s daughter? I’m glorious now, aglow.
Coat my dress in another sheen.
Naomi Ling is a Yale '28 student who loves storytelling for change. Recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and Best of the Net, she is a 2023 YoungArts Finalist in Poetry, Bow Seat Winner in Spoken Word, and Patricia Grodd Poetry Prize Winner, among others. She regretfully doesn't own a typewriter, but if she did, it would be light green.