My tongue unfurls to unlearn
the language of lying; I realize
that I am never grateful for any
kind of pitying look hurled
like a wet towel in my direction.
I can race, legless and all, straight
to the end of the line. And that is
not only a matter of perspective
from this corner of the room
where the schoolteacher only calls
on me when he knows that I have
the right answer, thinks that he must
not add salt to the stump under my skirt.
- Kristine Ong Muslim