wildscape. literary journal

Before Immigration I Was Many Things
by Joy Yin

The summer I left the motherland, I lay in bed
counting the days till abomination. Outside, cicadas 
pressed their wails into the heat, their chorus threading 
through my chest, burrowing under my ribs into a 
constellation. On the ceiling, I drew maps of cities 
I knew I would never be allowed in, each street ending 
a few cars shy of impact. I remember thinking: this is 
how I will begin, with my edges fading. My finger 
moved slowly over the pillowcase, reading my 
name stitched into the fabric, already drifting
toward the abyss. I could feel the fish scales, too, 
tokens of the Yangtze River, rising from my flesh
as if I had carried them out with me. Even at four, 
I was asking for too much. 

about the author // Joy Yin