Name Him

Poetry by Matthew Zhao

Āntíng means peaceful home in Mandarin, and all the girls jizz
but the boy’s playing nice with his dick. How sick! They say
Chinese parents should talk to their children about safe sex.
Don’t they want the best for their kids? Don’t they know
every culture is different? Didn’t they teach about HPV
fucking over white cells like a pandemic? He told you
gynecology was his first choice and favorite subject
hoping you could forgive him for waving red flags
in medias res, stopping you from loving it harder.
Just think about grandma, Dad’s tip on Nasdaq.
Kill, fuck, but don’t marry or he’s at the stirrup
lying easy like we’ll keep the next one or I do.
Maybe it’s true, maybe he does want children.
Nǚwa didn’t pull us from mud to waste sperm
or persimmons or love from a woman maternal
patiently listening to his excuses after heartbreak.
Queen Cleo was feeling full after the hundredth BJ.
Raising sons isn’t easy, Ma says, not math or feng shui.
Save yourself before saving face, Ba says, find a strength,
talk to your therapist, tell her you hate us, and we’ll go along,
unsure why he stops calling. What’s wrong? he asks himself.
Vindication for it all instead of suicide, waiting on a hotline.
Why can’t I remember? I remember being afraid as a child…
X over the memories hidden in my poetry, drugs, and music.
You should know I was abused. There, I said it. Pay for rehab,
zip up the straitjacket when it’s cold. Grab a seat, sip the hot tea.

Matthew Zhao

Matthew Zhao is a PhD student at Florida State University and co-editor of poetry for Southeast Review. His work has been a finalist in the National Poetry Series, Mississippi Review Prize, and Booth's Susan Neville Prize, among other prizes. His poems recently appear in swamp pink, Four Way Review, Frontier Poetry, The Offing, and The Indianapolis Review.