She Is a Haunting

by Trang Thanh Tran

There are echoes that do not stop echoing, trapped in nooks and old curtains, until they’re found again—still screaming or laughing, voices dead or gone. What parts are undigested lie waiting.

The body becomes full of things it did not ask for.

there’s a power in never being known because no one can use you against you.

I’ll never fully understand the intimacy of a home rooted in soil.

The thing about fighting is, it’s easy to let something true slip when your emotions run so close to the surface, the vessels loose in your skin.

Racists don’t need reasons to be racist. She lived to be seen. There are so many others waiting to be heard, overlooked and forgotten and written in the margins.

I’d ignored all the signs. I’d asked no smart questions. I’m getting what I deserve, because I believed in my father. I loved him enough to hope that he loved me too.