Sixteen Gauge
Poetry by Alyssa Ogi
My grandmother could not understand
why I’d want metal shoved through my ear cartilage,
the first in family history with intentional holes.
I said “there’s no reason,”
but there’s always one, when you’re sixteen and lost,
clumsy and harsh, crowded inside inches of skin.
How could I explain that I was selfish?
That there was a chasm between me and my beautiful cousins
who spoke flawless Chinese and didn’t dream in color;
that as the lone duckling, I wanted a badge of pride
when I became an ugly duck.
How could I tell her that I was too confused
to see the clouds without losing my head?
That angst and short legs left me looking for courage
as I fell into an age when I was supposed to be wise.
But I still am this child; one who sets off metal detectors,
and falls short of the model for young love’s grace,
or an Asian girl’s lust, or a granddaughter’s song.
I still am this girl who finds herself in the wake of distaste.
And my grandmother will accept such rough explanations,
but will pointedly refuse to look.
Alyssa Ogi is a first-year Literature major at UC Santa Barbara. Her work has appeared in the Santa Barbara Independent, Spectrum, and other journals. She currently has an industrial, a rook, and two conches, and hopes someone out there knows what this means.
legit… :]