Evidence

By Jennifer Choi

things that are already too broken to fix,
& the moment you touch them,
they fall apart even more—
objects that crumble at the slightest pull.

today, a city breaks,
today, a house,
today, a family,
today, a mother,
today, a father.

in the stationery shop, Nana twinkles
from inside her little box.
the doll my mother made has tangled hair,
its neck stiff & hard to turn.

i never threw it away—
the doll whose name i forgot long ago.
i wonder when it will start to wear down,
while Nana keeps twinkling & dancing in the box,
& i hold on to everything.

a newspaper drops with a soft thud at dawn,
& i know you’re somewhere asleep
waiting to stretch with the morning light.

today, a family breaks,
& the dolls i make—
one by one, their edges start to tear.
i feel my lips, my ears, my hands
folding in slowly, bit by bit.

Jennifer Choi is a passionate high school student whose love for poetry began at an early age. She finds inspiration in exploring themes of identity, love, and the complexities of the human experience through her writing.