By Lucy Chuang

After the dry summer heat, morning falls    over Mud Hill and still,    the face of footprints does not change. A
father gently nudges his little girl forward             red topsoil and the carcasses of    soldier ants     who
once held up the world in their mandibles           cling to her light-up Sketchers. Stroke by stroke, Mud Hill
softens, its body bending into      the snake of the Chattahoochee River. On the edge,                 bamboo shoots
whistle in the warm wind              green and yellow rings knock into each other            hollow wood reaches
upwards like stubby toddler fingers.                       The father pulls out a limber saw and shows the little girl
how to grab the head of bamboo stalks                 with both hands and          chops the smell of bamboo
the smell of urine fills the air.      They sit at the mouth of the river as the father pulls out another blade, a hilt
with mother-of-pearl. A treasure   from the Elijay Sunday Flea Market. Carving into the bamboo stalks,
he strips           the pieces into long slivers. Strong enough to make the spine          of a kite. And when they
finish, bundling up the pieces like strands of angel hair        they go and    write a new face in the mud.

About the Author
Lucy Maylee Chuang is an Asian American poet from Duluth, Georgia. Lucy is a graduate of
Princeton University, where she studied American Politics, Asian American Studies, and
Creative Writing. For her thesis, Lucy produced an original manuscript of poems centered on
belonging, social acceptance, and intergenerational memory titled “Kinfish River.” She is a
recipient of the 2020 Mallach Senior Thesis Prize from the Lewis Center for the Arts and the
2019 VS Pink with Purpose Project. Currently, Lucy lives and writes in New York City.