abecedarian for white rabbit candy
ISABEL GAN
HEAR ISABEL READ HER PIECE HERE!
amalgamate velvety cream with vanilla and you will get magic.
back in my singapore motherland we called it 大白兔奶糖,
candied ivory and softest of yellow undertones. in pīnyīn that is to say
dà bái tù nǎi táng—the nostalgic white rabbit candy. in truth, i say
each one is a testament to time, its stories fragmenting, like how i
feel the thinnest of translucent rice paper flaking on my fingertips.
generations ago my ancestors from china brought white rabbit candy
halfway down the world, onto a dot not quite visible, settling on an
independent island—island nation—nation of merlion children.
jubilee bridge paves jubilee walk for motherland's golden jubilee;
kowtow to her fissures borne of lightning. watch as she breathes
life into her merlion children, weeping their renewal once more.
melt seven white rabbit candies and you get a cup of milk, but
not quite the real kind like the slogan claims. for it is runny syrup
overflowing—the taste of ‘tóng nián’ childhood, and all the
previous nameless figures who once had coated lips of sugar,
quixotically believing in wind-whispered, water-wished promises.
reality reminds me, remember that you too, are a merlion child.
see, when i immigrated, i too looked for white rabbit candy. yet the
tootsie roll was america’s gift to me, chewy chocolate with an
unsubtle, undesirable, artificial fruit taste foreign to my tongue.
vacantly, i unwrap and chew, dissolving lingering tastes of white rabbit candy.
worn, i let them butcher my chinese name, pain radiating in my
xiphoid, blunt chest trauma from erasure of myself and at night i repeat
yǔ xuān, third-tone first-tone, warmth in speech. homesick, i weep for
zygotes of unborn merlion children asleep in my motherland’s womb.
cygnet
ISABEL GAN
once he was a cygnet. lost, searching
hopeless, he wished he could show—all of
his worth to those who doubted him.
he pleads.
please look at me—not for what i am now
i am but a molted mix of dull, dusky gray down and feathers
but look at me, within me, to see what i can become.
he remembers.
how they called him the ugly duckling, incapable of being loved
so he left them because—no one wants me—he said—i do not belong tiny, delicate,
and frail, he stumbled up to the edge of the vast world.
i know that i am far from graceful and i know
that i am not majestic yet; a far cry from tranquil white plumage
but always remember that, when i grow up—realize myself
soon winter came and he glanced up at the flock of beautiful white birds creamy white
streaks, pearls of birds, against the endless blue sky
how i wish i was like them—he whispered to himself—what a dream it would be.
even though you laughed and mocked me, and all those times
you called me ugly—know that i too, will be full of charm
and strength and beauty; all the things you wished you were.
spring blossomed; she sprang to life. he did not believe it, but so did he elegantly, gracefully, a dream
looked back at him from the glistening waters the swans, with their raised necks and throaty
rumbles, they welcomed him.
now, he is a swan. found, discovered,
hopeful, he flies with his flock—soaring
above the edge of the vast world.