Liana Fu is a Midwestern Cantonese American poet studying Creative Writing and Comparative Race and Ethnic Studies at the University of Chicago. She edits for Blacklight, a journal dedicated to publishing work by people of color, and occasionally writes for South Side Weekly and The Chicago Maroon. Her work appears in Occulum Journal, Ghost City Review, Hyphen Magazine, and elsewhere.






Liana Fu

Leftovers

Gather the pieces that are left over;
Let nothing be wasted.
Pieces of Cantonese streaming through the static of the television,
flashes of open eyes during prayers before lunch,
the apparition of white faces in expanses of endless hallways —
Love thy neighbor as thyself.
Head bent over a Bible, eyes alert,
verses embedding themselves into a stored memory of —
Setting the table with flower-stained napkins and paint-chipped chopsticks —
Grandpa’s cracked Vermeer hands.
Father, Son, Holy Spirit. “Why did you have three kids, mommy?”
“Because God wanted me to.”
Because God said —
“Go back to China,” said the 鬼佬. A ghost.
It will break in pieces like pottery,
Shattered so mercilessly that among its pieces not a fragment will be found.
These parts do not fit the prototype.
恩恩, go back home.




Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.