My mother was a fever. My father was a restaurant.
Every noon he fed his lungs to an entire city.
Every night he held my belly searching for a suburb.
I was the firefly that flared only once in my father’s kingdom.
-Asian American Writer’s Workshop, Wo Chan
Tagged: Asian Am culture, Asian American poetry, Asian American Writer's Workshop, children illustration, contemporary poetry, cornfields, illustration, lyric poem, my mother was a fever, poem, poetry, Such As Wo Chan, the Asian American experience, Wo Chan, Wo Chan poem