Poetry By Molly Zhu

        David Geitgey Sierralupe CC




I CONFESS…

… I sometimes want to change, but I’m afraid no one will be there
to receive me. I confess I am a stoner and that I once peed my pants
in a Burlington Coat Factory in suburban New Jersey. I confess 
I want to be seen but not fully understood. I confess all of my shame,
my fuck ups, my coldness. I confess my lava lamp, my guilty pleasures,
those long hours of solitude in the peace of the night. I confess 
I think every poem will change my life and I confess I may be in love
with only the idea of you. I confess and it makes me queasy,
acidic, acerbic. I confess and it makes me light, airy, it makes me 
fly away. I confess I don’t floss every night, and that I am an extrovert,
but that I am actually an introvert – I confess I’m not really sure
who I am today, but I will act like I’m sure. I confess I’m full of shit 
but I hope you still like me. And in this life, I confess that it’s far too easy 
to hurt someone. And yes, I have hurt you before. Above all I confess 
I want so desperately to forgive you. And by “you” I confess 
that I mean “me”. Sometimes I feel I’m not allowed to change my mind,
even though, I confess it’s in my bones to undergo radical transformation
every single day. I confess I am a fabulist, and I confess I secretly 
want to be the poet laureate of Pluto. I confess I was once in pain 
but I couldn’t walk away – OK maybe more than once… I confess nothing 
is ever more interesting to me than the patterns in the sky. Also, I cried on my way 
over here and I confess I will probably cry on my way home. I confess 
I am immensely proud of my parents, though I am terrified of becoming 
just like them. And I told you I would consider it but, I confess, 
I’m not going to consider it. I confess sometimes when I feel lonely 
I stare out from my window and replay my favorite memories. 
I confess I can’t believe I ever loved you, 
but I loved you, once. 





Californian Grandmother

姥姥，
In California, the grandparents are not like you. 
I see them around in my neighborhood and they walk dogs 
and they wear hoodies with American logos 
you would know, like CocaCola and Nike. 
When I wave and say hello, they respond in perfect English, 
English better than my parents’
and of course, English better than your own.
Sometimes I like to stop and ask about their kids,
their easy quotidian existence. We talk about the San Diego sun 
and the California rain, (it almost never rains in San Diego.)
Then we part and I think of all the ways you will never sound the same.
Once in LA, I sat next to a woman and her grandmother 
in a dimly lit sushi restaurant, 
the kind where they are precious with the sparkling water 
(do you know what that is?) 
and you have to nestle up to the table to get a word in. 
I wished we could be like the two of them…
The young woman probably drove down the street,
picked up her grandmother in a Toyota Prius 
(like my mother’s first car in the U.S.)
They might’ve talked on phone earlier to set a time. 
Maybe the grandmother offered to drive them, 
maybe the grandmother had a book recommendation for the young woman that week, 
maybe the grandmother was going on a trip with her tai chi group this year, 
maybe the grandmother had just returned from Atlantic City 
and was windswept in recounting each golden detail.
(Atlantic City is a gambling destination.) 
Have you ever been to Atlantic City? 
Have you ever been to the heart of America?
Have you ever felt at home here?
I only wonder because I am painfully jealous of these two women – 
they’ve never sat with such an ocean between them.

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Molly is a Chinese American poet and attorney. Her work is about Chinese culture, her family and the things that make her cry. She has been published in Hobart Pulp, the Ghost City Press, and Bodega Magazine, among others.  In 2021 and 2022, she was nominated for Pushcart prizes.  She is the winner of the inaugural Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Prize hosted by the Cordella Press and her first chapbook,  Asian American Translations, is available now from Cordella Press. You can visit MollyZhu.com for more information.
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