“We all know what it feels like to feel like something less than what we’re supposed to be.”
Memory is fluid and complex and difficult to judge. I love the idea of a tapestry of memories about the same event. Somewhere, in the middle of this woven quilt of memories, is the truth. Or many, many truths.
Being a psychotherapist attuned me to discerning both to what is said and what is unsaid, accustomed me to seeking to understand conscious and unconscious motivation—above all, to listening.
“There are nights when across the bay we can see
Lights pressing the form of a certain small town.”
I allowed myself to write without compartmentalizing the Chinese from the English, the Cantonese from the Mandarin, and let the sounds from other places dance and mix into the poems.
“I realized I had to center myself and people like me in my writing because I didn’t know who else would.”
by Tracy Youngblom
“He won me once—twice if you must know.
Each time, forced to silence, I watched
his strength prevail, other suitors bloodied,
beaten. This was one kind of love.”