Eyes

Cindy Goldberg

She read about a man from my country

with troubles and rice and family and life.

She looked at me, smiling as if I knew –

Her eyes pulled by her wrinkled fingers high

and tight must be how I look to my friends.

The children laughed and pointed to my eyes –

Find Vietnam on the map she told me

and stand under it, that’s how you all look.

I was born in the hospital near school

My mom and dad came here when they were young

I am diverse and unique in my class

I want to run away, throw up or die.

I stand and smile – she’s my third grade teacher

She deserves my respect – I hate her eyes.

Cindy Goldberg writes from Pennsylvania.