Looking for a Modicum by Sarah Zhang (15, Philippines)*

When her ears are roughened
like processed flax, she goes 

away on her annual trip - the
one no one speaks of. Along 

the cobblestone paths driving
from home are small cavities, 

---

of water from the dry storms.
She has everything she needs: 

a pole man, two painted boys,
a silk house which all creases 

have ironed out. Sometimes
he drives in the rented SUV, 

or rides a bike with chains,
and the lead within her blood 

begins to siphon away like
how a vacuum picks up both 

dust balls and pearls in a jute
rug. She likes how her toned 

man treats her like gold and
how unkempt the lawn looks 

when she returns; she doesn’t
mention how the SUV started 

to rot from the inside, or how
the chains on the bike begins 

to constrict her legs, pieces of
grey flesh floating in the air.

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