By Angela Qian

Angela Qian was born in California and graduated from the University of Chicago. She has written for The Millions and The Point magazine, and was the recipient of the 2015 Norman Mailer College Prize for Poetry.

  1. Since moving to a relatively rural prefecture in Japan to teach English, I've often been mistaken for or passed as a Japanese person, and perhaps this is no surprise. Though not fluent, I can sustain a basic conversation for at least a few minutes. But I'm not Japanese—my nationality is American, my ethnicity Chinese, and my feelings, when I am taken for a Japanese person, are conflicted.

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  2. The Garden

    My father bends over the koi pond to count the fish,
    which are fewer now, dwindling in number.

    First it was the birds, then it was sickness,
    then age, something in the water—

    Then death settled in, comfortably,
    made up a bed and boiled pond scum for tea.

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