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.
