writer – librarian – word wrangler


Would you believe

your feathery flips were already familiar when I realized you could not have my blue eyes?

That moment I realized you and all future boarders in my womb,

would not match the golden, Gerber babies of my people

was electric.


We wondered

what our crazy love would look like on a face that grew up between our hearts?

Would his long inky lashes or my filaments of gold

frame the windows to your soul?  You were ours

before we ever saw you.


Why did that woman

who asked where I “got you from” only see the color of your skin?

She missed our crooked pinky fingers,  our caterpillar brows and the set of our chins.

A ladle of our DNA stew grew your toasted almond eyes,

but her question changed your view.


Do I belong

more to Daddy than to you?

-Molly Wong, 2015


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