Derek Jiu

Poetry, 面子/Save Face

a reverse abecedarian

zeroing out the last of my history with chalk and our

yellowed bodies shudder in rigor mortis. a rusted

xyster planted deep along my cheekbone, scars tender

without lipping flesh. in this life, i will not play

victim to my genetics. the thinning blue in Mā’s veins

unspools like a suture—rhythmic hacking and

the roar of the Chinatown night market, pork blood

splattered onto every syllable—the slaughter left

rotting in our lungs. iridescent koi rustling like

quarter pounder wrappers between our pruned fistfuls.

pocket change etched along palm lines like oracle bones

or loose memories; a half-eaten buffet plate sours under the

naked streetlights, peanut oil leaking by the mouthful. two

moons ago, three men split open my brother’s skull and

left me on the chopping block. i prayed on both

knees for a spare chance, carved out all my teeth, unhinged my

jaw to swallow their word like sweet rice wine. now

i scrub my tongue clean from the aftertaste of violence,

half-starved and hungering for another hit, my face an empty

grin as i scour for gold crowns in this wasteland of scraps. Mā

forgets that this is what it means to be a martyr: her life

exchanged for pennies on the dollar. i raise xyster to Mā’s cheekbone and

dissect my roots from her teeth. watch her secondhand youth

crumble like oracle bones to dust. so this is how it feels to

butcher a face beyond saving. so this is how it feels to be

American.

Poetry, Salvation

after Eric Yip

This poem can be read stanza by stanza, or by matching line numbers.

河 [river]

1. A child swaddles / his baby brother / in silk / by the shallow riverbank

2. T obacco smeared along their gums / burning incense / a new shipment / of bad weather

3. A father / scavenges for leftover / sunflower shells / between the empty cupboards

4. Barefoot in the alleyway / scaly tattoos / shadows slinking toward a thin man

5. Jet fuel / crop-dusts the sky / a jaded stomach / clutched between both hands

溺 [to drown]

1. Sinking under a tide of grief / tomb-sweeping / charred petals / the boy refuses to kneel

2. Chanting on the library steps / another worker / plastered / against the windows

3. The fine china / shattered / the fish mouths / scrubbed with soap / washing away / any curse

4. Splintered wood / rippling footsteps / his face left sputtering / in broken English

5. Y our favorite stuffed animal / suffocates in a suitcase / both arms / chucked out the window

漂 [to float]

1. A plastic spoon / tucked into / his back pocket / face drained / after one too many years

2. Blood resurfaces / in every dream / only for the broadcast / to forget his name

3. Moonlight / lingers beside the bed / scorched knees / dappled in his mother tongue

4. Streetlamps churning / with ink / & nacre / a person like that / was just / asking for it

5. The bonfire asphyxiates / sparks clinging / to your red sweatshirt / as you gaze

没 [nonexistent]

1. Cracked bones / thinned into an empty chamber / his ashes / peppered across a cornfield

2. Rioters spilled over the netted seabed / watercolor / tampering with the evidence

3. Sweeping up the kettle’s shards / crinkled newspaper / dust bunnies / fading to sepia

4. Because the bustling city / takes no pity / on those that are / this easily replaced

5. Learning to / debone gasps from prayer / and your face / left stained with salvation

Derek Jiu is a high school student from Texas. He is a Bennington Young Writer Award Recipient, Scholastic Gold Medalist, and Foyle Commended Young Poet. In his free time, he enjoys coding, weightlifting, and scouring Uber Eats for the latest coupons.