By Yeabfikir Ayele (YEAB) '25
March 25, 2024
I interviewed myself last night in front of
the mirror on the wall judging my fairness, my permutations of
practiced smiles deeper scowls and
disappointments. I asked myself the
questions they would ask me why I believe what
I believe the tonal waves I should
avoid the quakes, tremors, and thunders in my
name that they have
compressed.
Imagined a headline “third world kid in need of
a first class flight!!!!!!” soft letters, punch you in the guts, no
capitals.
Africa is a state of mind that keeps you sane when you find out your jerry can with a
split in the middle that your mother has mended with molten plastic is
made of plastic that the fumes from the melting pot murdered your
neighbor who screamed in your
general direction when someone broke her
flower pot even though there was nothing but
ashes in the clay and the seeds from the dried tomatoes have long been depleted of
any memory of
fertile soil or a
quiet womb.
them F-1 visas really be ripping us off
God, the tower of babel is now the air traffic control tower
lost in an airport lost in a revolving door and an evolving list of confusions.
alien is now a noun I’m attached to
like an adjective,
like I left my mother, father, sister, and brother
and aCcent and scent and sight and skin
with You a foreigner is a delightful description
of the temporary
state bartering livelihoods with papers
a marriage with suspicion
a child with a shipping address.
Illustration by Melanie Kim '23