espnW will publish a bi-weekly poem on Sundays. This week, Elizabeth Ribar writes a poem celebrating Asian athletes.
when I looked for female Asian athletes / sifted for these girls I knew / the world told me he only cares / when women are delicate / diminished to a bullet in a list of the world's most beautiful / despite the years she practiced perfecting herself in front of the camera / some don't even make it to the cover
they want to be known not for their beauty / nor bodies but for the game / all of them ignored the eyes of old men lingering behind them / men with two thoughts / judging these Others for taking over this country / or lusting for young lotus blossoms
Kristi, Yuna, Julie and the Michelles / scraped and collected medals in secret / cried on fields when they didn't feel good enough / pressured themselves into a number / tended their bruises alone at night / pride is frowned upon where we come from / yet these women could be tempered / to the sparkle they painted on their lips / the tulle and soft cotton that clung to their waist / a collective of pretty women with long black hair / soft and flowery / not a stretch of a limb / or muscles that don't get weak / on grass and ice / endurance that never tires
even
they
aren't supposed to be jagged / I wasn't an athlete yet I still couldn't play rough / no corners of my body were allowed to be hard / knees that fell onto gravel bled only once / a school suspension was a solitary lesson never to be repeated / in first grade I limped back home / a cut from a fall after chasing the boys / my father whipped me with a wire hanger / told me I could not play with them again / my first experience with sexism and it only got worse / a memory that still sings to me today / women are looked at as if they are broken / being outdoors is a sacrilege / reverence for the birds in the sky / not for sport / not to feel the wind's caress as we sprint down fields
I wonder whether Yuna ever feels like me / close enough in age to be my twin sister / they tell me I'm always at fault / does she vow like me to never say sorry / unless I truly mean it / sorry we're not fragile / we are the ones who are incessantly blamed / sorry I have slits for my eyes and they're beautiful / sorry our veins are not blue
my green veins are what set me free
Elizabeth Tsung is a Taiwanese American 20-something violinist turned freelance writer and editor and based in New York City. Her first poetry book all girls will not feel pretty at some point was released by Ugly Sapling Press in 2016.