Those who came before me Stood squarely in exclusion The ones who made it Before the gates closed Made innumerable sacrifices To try to belong I stand outside of exclusion, …
Allan Cho
Allan Cho
Engaged in a number of initiatives in the local community, Allan serves on the board of the Asian Canadian Writers’ Workshop and Vancouver Asian Heritage Month Society. He has written for the Georgia Straight, Diverse Magazine, and Ricepaper. His fiction has appeared in anthologies, The Strangers and Eating Stories. He is one of the founders of LiterASIAN Writers Festival,the first Asian Canadian literary festival and is co-editor of the anthology, AlliterAsian: Celebrating Twenty Years of Ricepaper Magazine.
You can sign away my dignity underneath the bleeding crown of your pen, Brand me with a dominion certificate, like a choker on a dog, Mark my existence as nothing …
Monthly remittances cut from a swath of trees wash up across the ocean a source of cheap labour from a sawmill tears and sawdust fell by Gung Gung seedlings of …
DOMINION OF CANADA DEPARTMENT OF IMMIGRATION AND COLONIZATION CHINESE IMMIGRATION SERVICE No.….…….. ……………This is to certify that……………………………………………………………………………………………., whose photograph is attached hereto, has registered as required by Section 18 of …
There was…… something…….. about Dominion Day.…… July ……….. …… . first, …… 1923. But then there was also knowing that I’d never see them again. Here are two things that …
míng are young tea leaves softened in the pacific is the ocean engraved on worn bodies of migrants even the birds and the insects of a new place míng, but …
For the “man in the fedora” for all the “bachelors” and the families that never were. No memories nearby I never knew his name Nor the people he had to …
A paper crane crimped and folded from pieces of tobacco paper I remember Gung Gung rolling and smoking his cigarettes under the bedsheets smelling of Tiger Balm, nicotine, and heartache …
One is a mirror number Reflecting tender eyes Looking to a better future Sailing starry skies Wisdom-worn hands Carved from a lifelong journey What peril I do not see But …
We crouch beneath the mulberry tree, leaves fluttering nervous whispers. The firebirds’ song – a shriek of metal blossoms bursts through the darkened skyline. Mother grips my arm, her voice …