Two Poems by Jade Han

A Collection of Things I Only Know Because I Was Told Them

Jade is an unusual name
          Girls are not boys
할머니 and 할아버지 are ‘Grandmother’ and ‘Grandfather’ in Korean
          Girls aren’t supposed to be taking karate class
Kids think seaweed is disgusting
          A boy can’t hit a girl but he can hit other boys
There are other types of fish other than mackerel
          I’m not supposed to wear a white T-shirt and a leather jacket for 50s Day
Chorizo y papas is a Mexican food
          The boys in karate class don’t want to fight the girl
Putting a slice of lime in a beer is a Mexican thing
          The other girls aren’t also pretending to be girls
When people hear “mixed,” they expect half white
          There are boys who have been getting skateboards for Christmas
Korean and Mexican is an unusual mix
          There are boys who have been going to the skatepark this whole time
I don’t look like what I am
                              Boys have been allowed to exist while I have been forced to be a girl

*

If I Were a Painter

From afar, the crackling fire between us
would’ve been just a candle flicker and we
would’ve been just two silhouettes at three-quarter view,
appearing through darkness
and hiding behind a swaying screen of leaves.
From where I sit beside you,
the soft glow of the fire illuminates your face
and paints you warmth and comfort.
Your eyes bury themselves in your book
and I follow your eyes as they follow the lines
and oh, what a blessing the existence of this book is
so I can watch you read it.

I wander along the flutter of your eyelashes
down the slope of your nose
and the curve of your lips,
and what a blessing the existence of this fire is
so I can see your face lit by it.

And if I were a painter,
I’d paint the very tip of your nose
with a not quite white dot, but bright enough to be mistaken for it
and I’d paint the same color in
the highlights above your lip and on your cheekbone.
With a deep and burnt red that can deceive the untrained eye as a true black,
I’d paint the gentle shadows of your forehead
and the dark side of your knuckles, of the hands that hold that book
and oh, the painters should envy me

for I have seen you and they have not.

What a blessing this night is
so I can sit beside you and wish I were a painter.

*

Jade Han (they/them) is a mixed Korean and Mexican gender non-conforming poet from Buffalo Grove, IL. They were a featured poet in Papers Publishing, and have work published/forthcoming in The Afterpast Review, Flurry Magazine, Cool Beans Lit, and Outland Magazine. Han currently attends the University of San Francisco. Their work explores the different aspects of their identity and the ways they interact with one another. Alongside writing, they love skateboarding, drawing, and oat milk lattes.