WHEN MY MOTHER DIES SHE SWEARS I’LL BECOME—

lullabies, hydrangeas, tap shoes, ugly yellow houses that house ugly yellow people, stars, rotten
plums on the front porch, snapping stems of green beans, grapefruits that won’t grow, a girl that
doesn’t know, nothing at all, lullabies, a red stain that refuses to own up to itself, violent raindrops,
metaphors, wrinkles, benign tumors, a reflection of a pretty girl, a reflection of a thin girl, something
more than the reflection of an average girl, lullabies, a pushpin stabbing people in the front, back,
and all the way through, smart, memories, bad grades, bad poems, bad daughters, nothing at all, a
liar, another reason i wish i was loved, another reason i wish i wasn’t so tired, another reason i just
want to sleep, anxiety attacks, a ghost girl, migraines with no relief, blind, blue hour, nothing at all,
cold, dependent on others, nothing, dreams, nothing, not anything, nothing, nothing, something
invincible

Isabelle Jia is a writer and student from San Francisco, CA. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming in Alexandria Quarterly, The Blueshift Journal, Rising Phoenix Review and many more. Jia has been recognized as a California Arts Scholar, by the Walt Whitman National Poetry Foundation, and the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers. Currently, she works for The Speakeasy Project, The Ellis Review, and Bitter Melon Magazine. For more on her work, go to http://isabellejia.weebly.com/

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