Lindsay Li

fool’s gold

after siinamota


even if you squint, you’ll still see
the gold reflected
in the reservoir—
you’ll still see
the ghost lake, epilimnion
cowering under the sun’s
love. through my fingers,
the afternoon showers like ichor,
like mosquitoes, expiring
in the heat. gold does not
welcome us. in the rush of 1850
a girl with my eyes
traveled across the ocean
to work for a girl
with yours. they called
the aluminum-foil splinters
she found fools’ gold.
your doormat’s gold
engraving, worn down
by shoes, by the christmas
you threw our mugs
against the door in a fit,
used to welcome me home.
i’m wearing the gold
necklace i bought you, the heart locket
nesting with dust, the price
tag smudged with sweat. it’s hard
to say whose flighty decision
it was: we are all innocent
fledglings falling from the nest
sometimes—staring as the ground
rushes to meet us, until we land
in two soft, impetuous
hands. that girl’s hands
unpolished iron, yet
in her employer’s daughter
she saw fleeting glances
of devotion, until her hesitance
warped into shame. weeping
clouds batter our faces, the sky
empurpling the park. under our feet her
grave sobers in the rain. gold seeps into
my hair, turns me
unattainable.

Lindsay Li is a Chinese American writer based in the Bay Area. In her free time, she attempts to unite history with the coming future, goes down Wikipedia rabbit holes, and writes anything that comes to mind.