The body that breaks before me

Dead weight 

Held in pieces

Cradled between my arms

I see fragility

I see strength 

I see bruises and scars

The shell that holds me

That gives me asian eyes

That bore into neglectful land

A promised land

A cruel place

With a hopeful face

Scattered stars of fruitful love

Sweet familiar faces 

Of mother tongues

Of simple sweets

Rooting from our ruthless land

Red Stained Soil 

Forgotten graves

Washed over with hands who knew me

Who felt me

The weight of my skin

My shell

For the veins that entangle within

And the wrinkles from my father

The skin of my mother 

Tender love turned heartaches, grandma 

Her oranges, my troubles

A vigilance that crumbled my skin

That hollowed my stomach and choked my neck

Watchful eyes, quick steps

Tender breathes

Between our mother tongue

Deep wrinkles

Warm blood

Diaspora ballads

Chris M Yee
In Between

2022

Gypsum, oranges, metal, plastic

70 x 28 x 28 inches