𝙾 𝙲 𝙲 𝚄 𝙻 𝚄 𝙼

Who said it would be easy to cross
the aisle of sea between the ex-
panse of eyes,

I bend back and baptize myself
in the ache felt from unknowing,
hoping it would heal.

the water is cold and I
don’t know how to swim
but I need to go There.

don’t                  I want it,
shouldn’t          I want it,
the Promised There

is a gap in memory
that may never be filled.
there is,

generationally-removed,
a history of becoming one
with water.

to have both means
there are consequences

to have both means
living in
limbo

it means diving,
it means

I must
go up.

 

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Liana Fu is a student at the University of Chicago majoring in Creative Writing and Comparative Race & Ethnic Studies. She was born and raised in the northwest suburbs of Chicago but tethers herself to Hong Kong. In 2016, she was nationally recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards for her memoir/personal essay. She edits for Blacklight Magazine, a literary magazine dedicated to publishing works by people of color, and occasionally writes for South Side Weekly and The Chicago Maroon. She is currently interning at Chicago Review. You can follow her @liana_lfu.