Aloe Vera

Michelle Li, United States

I thought so much of you that now

I have pretended to be a poet.

Meanwhile, this love in the background

plays on and on. Given the time,

I imagine you are folding dumplings,

flour ingrained beneath your nailbeds,

light haired in the dirty sunlight.

I told you, grandma, I am beginning

to remember my beginnings, beginning to

love home. The succulent aloe vera

leaves sway on the counter; the

evening combs your hair like a mother.

I remember someone once said that you

will always be loved more than you know.

Once the water on the stove begins to

break its bubbles, snapping sounds under

kitchen light, you will put the

dumplings in, three by three. When the sun

sets, think of me.

Michelle Li has been nationally recognized by Scholastic Art and Writing and Apprentice Writer. An alumna of the Kenyon Review Young Writer's Workshop, her work is forthcoming or published in Blue Marble, wildscape. literary, and Third Wednesday. She serves as an executive editor for Hominum Journal and edits for The Dawn Review. In addition, she plays violin and piano, loves Rachmaninoff and blackberries.