Photo courtesy of Ruth Loving.

It’s Wednesday, so it’s girls’ night, of course,
and tonight we’re crafting with Emma’s new Cricut.

Sarah drives us to the Michaels in Lynnwood
so we can stock up on art supplies.

I always stop by the jewelry aisle, because
one day I’d like to open my own Etsy shop.

And that’s when I notice
you

White, masculine you
Beady-eyed, creepy you

You’re staring at me and my friends, and I know what you’re thinking:
“Are they sisters?”

As if all Asian women are related,
as if we all look the same to you,
as if we’re all
disposable,
interchangeable,
replaceable,
collectable.

I decide my Etsy shop can wait. I think I’ll paint instead.
             You think you’ll paint, too.

Painting is too messy. I think I’ll sculpt instead.
             You think you’ll sculpt, too.

Sculpting is too time-consuming. I think I’ll scrapbook instead.
              You think you’ll scrapbook, too.

The security cameras will surely capture my anxiety
from having to choose between blue? pink? purple? green? colored paper
white?
yellow?

I can’t decide. Is it my eyes, or is there something else on my face?

Please stop staring at me.

Please stop staring at me.

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