They press their hands into
a bulging mass on the kitchen table,
shaping it into a hollow womb.
The color of bone and buttermilk.
They make a door and climb inside.
Fruiting bodies drip from the ceiling.
They sing their age in units of decay.
When the sun rises, the kiln glows white,
and their skin puffs open revealing
a thousand layers.
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Elena Zhang is a Chinese American writer and mother living in Chicago. Her work can be found in HAD, Wigleaf, and X-R-A-Y, among other publications. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, and was selected for Best Microfiction 2024, 2025, and 2026. |