Two live in Chicago. Two are teachers.
Two are over six feet. Two
are named David.
Two wear flannel as often
as they can. I’m married
to one. I had weekly
with one before she moved away.
I have the same Nalgene as one. I was one’s
dim sum mentor.
One taught white fragility
to college freshmen
while wearing shorts. One swaps “we”
and “they” when talking about white people
and usually corrects himself. One says
“China” when he means
“Hong Kong.” One once
told me she was afraid
to visit China. One grew up in Peru. One grew up
in rural Indiana and gawks
at cityscapes like IMAX screens. One
tweets about white supremacy
in the church, engages in Facebook arguments.
One wonders how he can better
work under a Black supervisor.
One tries not to believe he’s better than
other white people and
sometimes fails. I trust one’s
book recommendations. I miss
one who’s probably on a yearlong
canoe trip. I wish one would
read the articles I send him on racism
toward Asian Americans without
me bugging him. When I first
met one, everyone wanted to be friends
with her, so I didn’t think we’d become
friends like this.
Note: The term “dim sum mentor” is from Dear Girls (2019) by Ali Wong
Lisa Low was born and raised in Maryland. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in The Iowa Review, Copper Nickel, Bat City Review, Puerto del Sol, Redivider, and elsewhere, and her nonfiction appears in Gulf Coast as the 2020 nonfiction prize winner. A graduate of Indiana University’s MFA program, she is a PhD candidate and Yates Fellow at the University of Cincinnati.