American Diorama | Naomi Ling
after Ocean Vuong
“I am an American; free born and free bred, where I
acknowledge no man as my superior, except for his own
worth, or as my inferior, except for his own demerit.”
—Theodore Roosevelt
Let this be a story of light. Tonight the TV
speaks little tragedies into
existence, throws
home across faceless soil.
I want
nothing more than
a home / body / girl
to call my own. We can
be our own flag
and anthem: Flesh is not a prayer,
but let me sing it into creation.
Myth or memory,
you decide.
/
If myth, say anthem of immigrants. I hear
American Dream and believe
bullets-becoming-a-war-cry,
bullets-biting-breasts,
mountains-leaning-into
-a-mother, into anything, everything beautiful.
The news holds my head
against a bright
blue square—propaganda.
Good citizen.
The sky blanches open
over us. So proud &
worshipping.
/
Back in the day we
wanted to make clouds. Packed powder
like a promise and
cocked it towards the
sky. It fell like rain. Killed like
history. The air hewed
into a thousand choked breaths—
who would believe us?
They say America was born
from a womb.
There are far too many
casualties
for rebirth.
/
Let us dream our history into
hope. My mother tells me of men
measuring the land with their
teeth, mistaking the earth for
bread. Hunger will make every man
into resilience. Or at least,
into everything
we weren’t meant to be.
/
I say speak and mean anything our tongues
touch. Language: another form of life. To
which we love and are
loved. What I say is 你好 / 안녕하세요 /
ہیلو .What I say is
we are more than our hands. Birds: our wings
plucked or unfolded;
our wrists
some small act of creation.
/
America unfurls from patriot to pixels—
you were not born
from a womb,
a dynasty,
a lineage.
Every man and woman leveled
like dust. Yet we are not
finished. This can be a chapter
an elegy
or sacrifice. We of belonging.
We of cities that mute themselves
too late.
What I’m saying is
not every story
has a storyteller. We live
only for our bodies
not imaginations.
/
On the news, the ground
proclaims itself a patriot.
I’m ready
to call it home / anything.
/

About the Author:
Naomi Ling is a student writer on the East Coast, USA. Her poetry most often grapples with growing pains and identity. In her free time, she enjoys eating as many dumplings as she can.