Written by Xiang Li from West Morris Mendham High School in New Jersey, USA We are the moon’s echo on this side of the sea, split light drifting in American dawn. Mom and I bloom in a borrowed land, roots tangled in soil that doesn’t know our names, split light drifting in American dawn. In China, our other half dreams of us roots tangled in soil that doesn’t know our names. Every meal my mother builds by hand. In China, the other half dreams of us. My father, thunder behind
Written By Amy Hou from Concord Academy, MA, USA To the United States, I am an immigrant to America, though the word “immigrant” feels too easy, too administrative, as if crossing an ocean were a form to be stamped rather than a body split into before and after. I arrived carrying another geography under my skin. Another grammar of belonging. Classrooms here orbit around race. Everything bends toward it, returns to it, asks the body to position itself in relation to it. Read.
