July 28, 2012

“I was born with feet like this”

she says, while her feet

move faster, carrying

her skinny legs into

The Electric Slide before

spinning wildly, until the beads

in her hair become a vivid

blur of rainbow.

July 9, 2012

Her smile is

tired. Black wisps of 

frazzled hair tied behind,

meeting with a back

skinny, strong.

Her apron is stained,

grease and bits of

rice, and there are lines

too deep for a

child’s face,

like her mother’s face.

She sweats.

But she doesn’t cry.

Only smiles again, again

Thank you

Come again.

This is the American dream.