Lotus from the Mud

I’ve known hunger, loss, and the weight of unchosen circumstances. But through it all, there’s a force inside me—like the lotus—that will not be buried.

dirt

grime

heat

sludge

things nobody wants

from this,

a pink lotus rises

petals untouched by mud

wealthy in name

but only in rural Fujian

rice bowls, old house

a girl with nothing

then—

to the Philippines

a new name

a new tongue

a girl reformed in gold

sickness

to servants

flickering lights

to chandeliers

I’ve tasted it all

a lotus is formed

petals closed

  holding light

     rooted in rot

      pure from filth

      blooming still

a transplant in America

30 countries, no true home

I hold my own gravity

I long to land, to stay

but we don’t choose the mud

only how we rise

and I blossom

undeterred.