by Selina Li Bi

Nothing left but the girl
with persimmon eyes.

A blind immigrant
her fingers trace
the familiar places

on painted flesh
tattooed tongue
bruised black as ink

she shovels words
in her mouth

hands lose touch
over time.

Her face crumples
like rice paper parasols

that stir in the wind
looking for rain.

Absence is color, deep
indelible like her painted scars
unspeakable

like dried plums

like the tiny flame burning
on the tip of her tongue.

About the Author
Selina Li Bi was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and raised in North Dakota. After practicing as a doctor of optometry for many years, she earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Minnesota State University Moorhead. As a second generation Asian American, the dichotomy of cultures in which she grew up in, weaves its way into her work. Her credits include a children’s story based on her father’s childhood during the Japanese occupation of the Philippines published in Cricket. Her fiction has been published in Red Weather and her poetry has appeared in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal and Red Weather.