Name:

Period:

U.S. Lit. & Comp.

UNIT 2:
Diverse America

Diverse America Unit

This unit is designed to introduce students to multicultural literature and to examine key elements of
this literature including common themes/topics such as racism, poverty, cultural conflict, and
assimilation to "American culture,'' as well as challenges unique to each group. The unit is also a
celebration of the contributions of these cultures to the larger "American culture."
As we progress through our Diverse America Unit, we will be reading literature written by
Native Americans, Hispanic/Latino Americans, African Americans, and Asian Americans. We
don't have enough time in this unit to do an in-depth study of each culture, but we will be
reading a sampling of short stories/ poetry from each of them. Your job will be to identify
themes within each cultural group, as well as to make connections between each cultural
group.
Most of the readings in this unit will be from the book Braided Lives Anthology-you will have
digital access outside of class and paper access (if needed) in class. Some of the readings will
be supplemented-in this packet-and you will be responsible for annotating these readings. In
addition, there are areas in this packet for you to take notes on themes and answer questions. I
will be collecting your packet at the end of the unit to check for your notes, your answers to
any provided questions, and your annotations (25 points).
You will also be completing a commentary assignment (see next page) over the course of the
unit. These will also be collected at the end of the unit (60 points).
This unit will last for roughly four weeks. At the end of the unit, we will have a unit test (100
points) and we will be doing a group multi-genre project (100 points).
The following are the texts we will be reading in this unit, as well as whether it is in the packet
or in Braided Lives.
Native American literature:
"The Fire Dragon and Sweat" Introductory essay ( Braided)
"Sure You Can Ask Me a Personal Question" Diana Burns (packet)
"Dear John Wayne" Louise Erdrich (packet)
"The Man to Send Rain Clouds" Leslie Marmon Silko ( Braided)
Hispanic/Latino American literature:
"The Wake Up Call" Introductory essay ( Braided)
"Child of the Americas" Aurora Levins (packet)
from Bless Me U!tima, Rudolfo Anaya ( Braided)
from House 011Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros (packet)
Asian American literature:
"Living in the Global Village" Introductory essay ( Braided)
"No Name Woman" from Woman Wanior, Maxine Hong Kingston ( Braided)
Executive Order 9066 from President Roosevelt (packet)
"Response to Executive Order 9066" Dwight Okita (packet)
African American literature:
"The Kaleidoscope of Self" Introductory essay (Braided)
from Fences, August Wilson (Braided)
"Zami: A New Spelling of My Name" Audre Lorde ( Braided)
"The Bridge Poem" Donna Kate Rushin (packet)

US Literature

Commentary Assignment

Diverse America Unit

Quick Guide to Writing Commentaries

Purpose:
The purpose of these commentaries is to allow you to practice the skill of analyzing literature.
Format:
Please type your commentaries. Clearly label the piece of literature you are analyzing at the top of the
commentary. At a minimum, your commentary should be one, well-developed paragraph- some pieces
might require two paragraphs (or more) for a more complete analysis.
You will first need a topic statement that identifies the literarv element (ie: irony, theme, figurative
language, characterization, setting, etc.) you will discuss and that element's impact on the piece (think of
this as a type of thesis statement!). Next, you need to provide evidence from the text to support your
opening statement. Please use MLA parenthetical citations to cite page numbers for any quotes you use.
Finally, you need to explain how this evidence creates the effect you described in your opening statement.

Grading: 20 points each (60 points total)

Grading will be done on completeness of the entry (at least one paragraph), analysis of the text (don't
summarize what you read; analyze it!), and use of quotes or other evidence for support (refer to
specific aspects of the text and/or use quotes).
I will collect your typed commentaries at the end of the unit, and I will randomly select three of them to
grade for points. These will be the same for everyone. Since you won't know which of these I will be
grading, you must do your best work on ALL of them. I will also be checking commentaries for completion
throughout the unit.

Hints:

Review the glossary of literary terms packet posted on Blackboard (under 'information') as this
is a good reminder of what literary devices to be looking for in each piece.

The SIFT Method can also come in handy to remember what literary devices to look for in a piece of
literature. (All of these terms are defined in the glossary of literary terms.)
Symbol: examine the title and text for symbolism
Images: identify images and sensory details
Figures of speech: analyze figurative language and other devices
Tone and Theme: discuss how all devices reveal tone and theme

READ OVER YOUR COMMENTARY BEFORE YOU CALL IT COMPLETE! This may sound
silly or obvious, but you need to make sure that you are about to turn in a strong piece of writing that
reflects your best thinking and your best writing.

Texts: You must do a commentary for the following pieces from this unit:
"Sure You Can Ask Me a Personal Question" (packet)
Excerpt from Bless Me, Ultima (Braided Lives)
"No Name Warrior" (Braided Lives)
"The Bridge Poem" (packet)
You may have some class time to work on each commentary (after you complete the reading), but whatever
you do not complete is homework. We may also periodically workshop your commentaries - this will be a
good opportunity to see where you need to revise to meet the requirements. Please see me for help if you
are struggling on these commentaries

What is culture? (consult P.P.)

Pre-write: Describe one of the "cultural groups" to which you belong. Include at least one example of
language, norms, traditions, f o o d , m u s i c , etc. that are unique to this culture/group; what identifies
you as a member of that group?

For each introductory essay, take notes on the key ideas/themes that are discussed. You will use these
key ideas/themes as you are reading the pieces from that particular cultural group. You will also use
these notes to identify similar themes/ ideas across these different cultural groups.
Native American: "The Fire Dragon and Sweat"

Hispanic/Latino American: "The Wake Up Call"

Asian American: "Living in the Global Village"

African American: "The Kaleidoscope of Self"

Sure You Can Ask Me A Personal Question

Diane Bums

1. What message does the poem convey?

How do you do?
No, I am not Chinese.
No, not Spanish.
No, I am American Indi-uh, Native American.
No, not from India.
2. Explain the stereotypes in the poem.
No, not Apache
No, not Navajo.
No, not Sioux.
No, we are not extinct.
Yes, Indian.
3. How does the speaker feel about white people?
Oh?
So that's where you got those high cheekbones.
Your great grandmother, huh?
An Indian Princess, huh?
Hair down to there?
Let me guess. Cherokee?
4. How does the speaker feel about her culture?
Oh, so you've had an Indian friend?
That close?
Oh, so you've had an Indian Jover?
That tight?
Oh, so you've had an Indian servant?
5. Is she tired of answering the same questions
That much?
about herself and her culture? How do you know?
Yeah, it was awful what you guys did to us.
It's real decent of you to apologize.
No, I don't know where you can get peyote.
No, I don't know where you can get Navajo rugs real c
No, I didn't make this. I bought it at Bloomingdales.
Thank you. I like your hair too.
I don't know if anyone knows whether or not Cher is really Indian.
No, I didn't make it rain tonight.
Yeah. Uh-huh. Spirituality.
Uh-huh. Yeah. Spirituality. Uh-huh. Mother
Earth. Yeah. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Spirituality.
No, I didn't major in archery.
Yeah, a Jot of us drink too much.
Some of us can't drink enough.
This ain't no stoic look.
This is my face.

Dear John Wayne

Louise Erdrich
August and the drive-in picture is packed.
We lounge on the hood of the Pontiac
surrounded by the slow-burning spirals they sell
at the window, to vanquish the hordes of mosquitoes.
Nothing works. They break through the smoke-screen for blood.
Always the look-out spots the Indians first,
spread north to south, barring progress.
The Sioux, or Cheyenne, or some bunch
in spectacular columns, arranged like SAC missiles,
their feathers bristling in the meaningful sunset.
The drum breaks. There will be no parlance.
Only the arrows whining, a death-cloud of nerves
swarming down on the settlers
who die beautifully, tumbling like dust weeds
into the history that brought us all here
together: this wide screen beneath the sign of the bear.
The sky fills, acres of blue squint and eye
that crowd cheers. His face moves over us,
a thick cloud of vengeance, pitted
like the land that was once flesh. Each rut,
each scar makes a promise: It is
not over, thisfight, not as long as you resist.
Everything we see belongs to us.

A few laughingIndians fall over the hood

slipping in the hot spilled butter.
The eye sees a lot, John, but the heart is so blind.
How will you know what you own?

He smiles, a horizon of teeth

the credits reel over, and then the white fields
again blowing in the true-to-life dark.
The dark films over everything.
We get into the car
scratching our mosquito bites, speechless and small
as people are when the movie is done.
We are back in ourselves.
How can we help but keep hearing his voice,
the flip side of the sound-track, still playing:

Come on, boys, we've got them

where we want them, drunk, running.
They will give us what we want, what we need:
The heart is a strange wood inside of everything
we see, burning, doubling, splitting out of its skin.

1. What message does the poem convey?

2. Explain the stereotypes in the poem.

3. The poem suggests that watching a

'classic western' genre film through the
perspective of a Native American could
be offensive, painful, and tragic. What
are a few of the responses you see in the
poem?

Child of the Americas

Aurora Levins M orales

Definitions:
I am a child of the Americas,
a light-skinned mestiza of the Caribbean,
a child of many diaspora, born into this continent at a crossroads.
I am a U.S. Puerto Rican Jew,
a product of the ghettos of New York I have never known.
An immigrant and the daughter and granddaughter of immigrants.
I speak English with passion: it's the tongue of my consciousness,
a flashing knife blade of cristal, my tool, my craft.
I am Caribeiia, island grown. Spanish is my flesh,
Ripples from my tongue, lodges in my hips:
the language of garlic and mangoes,
the singing of poetry, the flying gestures of my hands.
I am of Latinoamerica, rooted in the history of my continent:
I speak from that body.

Mestiza: A woman of

mixed racial ancestry.

Diaspora: Any group that

has been dispersed

outside its traditional
homeland.
Tafno: Pre-Columbian
inhabitants of Bahamas,
Greater Antilles, and the
northern Lesser Antilles.
Spanglish: A language

blend of Spanish and

English.

I am not African. Africa is in me, but I cannot return.

I am not taf na. Taina is in me, but there is no way back.
I am not European. Europe lives in me, but I have no home there.
I am new. History made me. My first language was spanglish.
I was born at the crossroads
and I am whole.

1. What does it mean, "I was born at the crossroads ..."?

2. What does the speaker say about her identity and how it has been shaped by society, geography,
and history?

3. Describe the role of language in Morales' poem.

4. What is the speaker's attitude towards American society?

5. Does she represent the identity of the future? Explain.

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We didn't always live on Mango Street. Before that.

we Jived on. Loomis on the third floor, and before that we
lived on Keeler. Before Keeler it was Paulina, and before
that I can'.t remember.;- But what I remember most is moving a lot. Each time it-seemed there'd be one more of us.
By the time we got to Mango Street we were six-Mama,
Papa, Carlos, Kiki, my sister Nenny and me.
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The house on Mango Street is ours, and we don't have
to pay rent to anybody, or share.the yard with the people
downstairs, or be careful not to make too much noise, and
there isn't a landlord banging on the ceiling with a broom.
But even so, it's not the house we'd thought we'd get. .

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We had to leave the flat on Loomis quick. The water

pipes broke and the landlord wouldn't fix them because
. the house was too old. We had to leave fast. We were using
the washroom next door and carrying water over in empty
milk gallons. That's why Mama and Papa looked for a
house, and that's why we moved into the house on Mango
Street, far away, on the other side of town.
They always told us that one day we would move into
a house, a real house that .would be ours for always so we
wouldn't have to move ieach year. And our house would
have running water and pipes that worked. And inside it
would have real stairs, not hallway stairs, but stairs inside
like the houses on T.V. And we'd have a basement and at
least three washrooms so when we took a bath we wouldn't
have to tell everybody. Our house would be white with trees
around it, a great big yard and grass growing without a
fence. This was the house Papa talked about when he held
a lottery ticket.and this was the house Mama dreamed up
in the stories she told us before we went to bed.
But the house on Mango Street is not the way they
told it at all. It's small and red with tight steps in front and
windows so small you'd think they were holding their
breath. Bricks are crumbling in places, and the front door
is so swollen you have to push hard to get in. There is no
front yard, only four little elms the city planted by the curb.
Out back is a small garage for the car we don't own yet.
and a small yard that looks smaller between the two buildings on either side. There are stairs in our house, but
they're ordinary hallway stairs, and the house has only one
washroom: Everybody has to share a bedroom iMama and
Papa, Carlos andKiki, me and Nenny.
Once when we were living on Loomis, a nun from my
school passed by and saw me playing out front. The laun. dromat downstairs had been boarded up because it had

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been robbed two days before and the owner had painted
on the wood YES WE'RE OPEN so as not to lose business.
Where do you live? she asked.
There, I said pointing up to the third floor.
You live there?
There. I had to look to where she pointed-the third
floor, the paint peeling, wooden bars Papa had nailed on
the windows so we wouldn't fall out. You live there? The
way she said it made me feel like nothing. There. I lived
there. I nodded .
I knew then I had to have a house. A real house. One
I could point to. But this isn't it. The house on Mango
Street isn't it. For the time being, Mama say. Temporary,

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Those who don't know any better come into our neighborhood scared. They think we're dangerous. They think
we will attack them with shiny knives. They are stupid
people who are lost and got here by mistake.
But we aren't afraid. We know the guy with the crooked
eye is Davey the Baby's bother, and the tall one next to
him in the straw brim, that's Rosa's Eddie V., and the big
one that looks like a dumb grown man, he's Fat Boy, though
he's not fat anymore nor a boy.
All brown all around, we are safe. But watch us drive
into a neighborhood of another color and our knees go
shakity-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight and

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known her, a wild horse of a woman, so wild she wouldn't

marry. Until my great-grandfather threw a sack over her
head and carried her off. ] ust like that, as if she were a
fancy chandelier. That's the way he did it.
And the story goes she never forgave
She looked
out the wi11dow her whole life, the way so maf!y women sit
their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best
with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be
all the things sh.e wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited
her name, but I don't want to inherit 'her place by the
window.

At school they say my name funny as if the syllables

were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth.
But in Spanish my name is made out of a softer something, like silver, not quite as thick as sister's nameMagdalena-which is uglier than mine. Magdalena who at
least can come home and become Nenny. But I am always
Esperanza .
I would like to baptize myself under a new name, a
name more like the real me, the one nobody sees. Espenmza as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X. Yes. Something
like Zeze the X will do.

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My Name
In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means
too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is
like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican
records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is
shaving, songs like sobbing. .
It was my great-grandmother' s name and now it is
mine. She was a horse woman too, born like me in the
Chinese .year of the horse-which is supposed to be bad
luck if you're born female-but I think this is a Chinese
lie beca,use the Chinese, like the Mexicans, don't like their
women strong.
My great-grandmother. I would've liked to have
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Lala was sitting there drinking her coffee with' a spoon.

Aunt Lala said she had found a job for me at the Peter
Pan Photo Finishers on North Broadway where she
worked, arid how old was I, and to show up tomorrow
saying Iwas one year older, and that was that.
So the next morning Iput on the navy blue dress that
made me look older and borrowed money for lunch and
bus fare because Aunt Lala saidIwouldn't get paid till the
next Friday, and I went in and saw the boss of the Peter
Pan Photo Finishers on North Broadway where Aunt Lala
worked and lied about my age like she told me to and sure
enough, I started that same day.
In myjob I had to wear white gloves. I was supposed
to match negatives with their prints, just look atthe picture
and look for the same one on the. negative strip, put it in
the envelope, and do the next one. That's a11, I didn't kno'\'
where these envelopes were coming from or where they

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It wasn't as ifIdidn't want to work.Idid.Ihad even

gone to the social security office the month before to get
my social seeurity number. Ineeded money. The Catholic
high school cost a lot, arid Papa said nobody went to public
school unless you wanted to. turn out bad.
Ithought I'd find an easy job, the kind other kids
had, working in the dime store or maybe a hotdog stand.
And thoughIhadn't started looking yet,
thoughtImight
the week after next. But whenIcame home that afternoon,
all wet because Tito had pushed me into the open water
hydrant-only Ihad sort of let him-Mama called me in
the kitchen before Icould even go and change, and Aunt

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were going. I just did what Iwas told.

It was real easy, and I guess I wouldn't have minded
it except that you got tired after a .while and I didn't know
if I could sit down or not, and the Istarted sitting down
only when the two ladies next to me did. After a while they
started to laugh and came up to me and said I could sit
when I wanted to, and I said I knew.
When lunchtime came, Iwas scared to eat alone in
the company lunchroom with all tho e men and ladies looking, so I ate real fast standing in one of the washroom stalls
and had lots of time left over, so. I went back to work early.
But then break time came, and not knowing where else to
go; I went into the coatroom because there was a bench
there.
I guess it was the time for the nigl:inhift or middle
shift to arrive because a few people came in and punched

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Sandra Cisneros

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we talked for a while about my just starting, and he said

we could be friends and next time to go in the lunchroom
"e had nice eyes and I
and sit with him, and I felt better..H
didn't feel so nervous anymore. Then he asked if I knew
what day it was, and when I said I didi:i't, he said it was his
birthday and would I please give him a birthday kiss. I
thought I would because he was so old and just as I was
about to put my lips on his cheek, he .grabs my face with
both hands and kisses me hard on the mouth and doesn't
let go.

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M amacita is the big mama of the man across the street,

third-floor front. Rachel says her name ought to be M amasota, but I think that's mean.

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The man saved his money to bring her here. He saved

and saved because she was alone with the baby boy in that
country. He worked two jobs. He came home late and he
left early. Every day.
Then one day M amacita and the baby b.oy arrived
in a yellow taxi. The taxi door opened like a waiter's
arm. Out stepped a tiny pink shoe, a foot soft as a rab-
bit's ear, then the thick ankle, a flutter of hips, fuchsia roses and green perfume. The man had to pull her,

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the taxicab driver had to push. Push, pull. Push, pull.

Poof!
All at once she bloomed. Huge, enormous, beautiful
to look at, from the salmon-pink feather on the tip of her
hat down to the little rosebuds of her toes. I couldn't take
my eyes off her tiny shoes.
' Up, up, up the stairs she went with the baby boy in a
blue blanket, the man carrying her suitcases, her lavender
hatboxes, a dozen boxes of satin high heels". Then we didn't .
see her.
Somebody said because she's too fat, somebody because of the three flights of stairs, but I believe she doesn't
comi; out because she is afraid to speak English, and maybe
this is so since she only knows.eight words. She knows to
say: He not here for when the landlord comes, No speak
English ifanyb9dy else comes, and Holy smokes. I don't know
where she learned this, but I heard her say it one time and
it surprised me.
My father says when h<:' came to this country he ate.
hamandeggs for three months. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Hamandeggs. That was the only word he knew. He
doesn't eat hamandeggs anymore.
Whatever her reasons, whether she is fat, or can't
climb the stairs, or is afraid of English, she won't come
down. She sits all day by the window and plays the Spanish
radio show nd sings all the homesick songs about her
country in a voice that sounds like a seagull.
Home. Home. Home is a house in a photograph, a
pink house, pink as hollyhocks with lots of startled light.
The man paints the walls of the apartment pink, but it's
not the same, you know. She still sighs for her pink house,
.and tl).en I think she cries. I would.
Sometimes the man gets disgusted. He starts screaming and you can hear it all the way down the street.

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Ay, she says, she is sad.

Oh, he says. Not again.
tCwindo, cuando, cwf ndo? she asks.
;Ay, caray! We are home. This is home. Here I am and
here I stay. Speak English. Speak English. Christ!
;Ay! M amacita, who 'does not belong; every once in a
while lets out a cry, hysterical, high, as if he had torn the
only skinny thread that kept her alive, the only road out
to that country.
And then to break her heart forever, the baby boy,
who has begun to talk, starts to sing the Pepsi commercial
he heard on T.V.
No speak English, she says to the child who is singing
in the language that sounds like tin. No speak English, no
. speak English, and bubbles into tears. No, no, no, as if she
can't believe her ears.
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Not aflat. Not an apartment in back.- Not a man's

house. Not a daddy's. A house all my own. With my porch
and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and
my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody
to shake a stick at. Nobody's garbage to pick up after.
Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go,
clean as paper before the poem. \
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remember most is Mango Street, sad red house, the house

I belong but do not belong to.
I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not
ache so much. I write it down and Mango says goodbye
sometimes. She does not hold me with both arms. She sets
me free.
One day I will pack my bags of books and paper. One
day I will say goodbye to Mango. I am too strong for her
to keep me here forever. One day I will go away.
Friends and neighbors will say, What happened to
that Esperanza? Where did she go with all those books and
paper? Why did she march so far away?
They will not know I have gone away to come back.
For the ones I left behind. For the ones who cannot out.

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Goodbye
Sometimes
I like to tell stories. I tell them inside my head. I tell
them after the mailman says, Here's your mail. Here's your
mail he said.

I make a story for my life, for each step my brown

shoe takes. I say, "And so she trudged up th_e wooden stairs,
her sad brown shoes taklng her to the house she .never
liked."
I like to tell stories. I am going to tell you a story about
a girl who didn't want to belong.
We didn't always live on Mango Street. Before that
we lived on Loomis on the third floor, and before that we
lived on Keeler: Before Keeler it was Paulina, but what I

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Executive Order No. 9066

The President
Executive Order
Authorizing the Secretary of War to Prescribe Military Areas
Whereas the successful prosecution of the war requires every possible protection against espionage and against
sabotage to national-defense material, national-defense premises, and national-defense utilities as defined in
Section 4, Act of April 20, 1918, 40 Stat. 533, as amended by the Act of November 30, 1940, 54 Stat. 1220, and the
Act of August 21, 1941, 55 Stat. 655 (U.S.C., Title 50, Sec. 104);
Now, therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me as President of the United States, and Commander in Chief
of the Army and Navy, I hereby authorize and direct the Secretary of War, and the Military Commanders whom he
may from time to time designate, whenever he or any designated Commander deems such action necessary or
desirable, to prescribe military areas in such places and of such extent as he or the appropriate Military Commander
may determine, from which any or all persons may be excluded, and with respect to which, the right of any person
to enter, remain in, or leave shall be subject to whatever restrictions the Secretary of War or the appropriate
Military Commander may impose in his discretion. The Secretary of War is hereby authorized to provide for
residents of any such area who are excluded therefrom, such transportation, food, shelter, and other
accommodations as may be necessary, in the judgment of the Secretary of War or the said Military Commander,
and until other arrangements are made, to accomplish the purpose of this order. The designation of military areas in
any region or locality shall supersede designations of prohibited and restricted areas by the Attorney General under
the Proclamations of December 7 and 8, 1941, and shall supersede the responsibility and authority of the Attorney
General under the said Proclamations in respect of such prohibited and restricted areas.
I hereby further authorize and direct the Secretary of War and the said Military Commanders to talce such other
steps as he or the appropriate Military Commander may deem advisable to enforce compliance with the restrictions
applicable to each Military area hereinabove authorized to be designated, including the use of Federal troops and
other Federal Agencies, with authority to accept assistance of state and local agencies.
I hereby further authorize and direct all Executive Departments, independent establishments and other Federal
Agencies, to assist the Secretary of War or the said Military Commanders in carrying out this Executive Order,
including the furnishing of medical aid, hospitalization, food, clothing, transportation, use of land, shelter, and other
supplies, equipment, utilities, facilities, and services.
This order shall not be construed as modifying or limiting in any way the authority heretofore granted under
Executive Order No. 8972, dated December 12, 1941, nor shall it be construed as limiting or modifying the duty
and responsibility of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, with respect to the investigation of alleged acts of
sabotage or the duty and responsibility of the Attorney General and the Department of Justice under the
Proclamations of December 7 and 8, 1941, prescribing regulations for the conduct and control of alien enemies,
except as such duty and responsibility is superseded by the designation of military areas hereunder.
Franklin D. Roosevelt
The White House,
February 19, 1942.
'[F.R. Doc. 42-1563; Filed, February 21, 1942; 12:51 p.m.]
Source: Executive Order No. 9066, February 19, 1942.

In Response to Executive Order 9066: All Americans of Japanese Descent Must

Report to Relocation Centers
Dwight Okita
Dear Sirs:
Of course I'll come. I've packed my galoshes
and three packets of tomato seeds. Janet calls them
"love apples." My father says where we're going
they won't grow.
I am a fourteen-year-old girl with bad spelling
and a messy room. If it helps any,Iwill tell you
Ihave always felt funny using chopsticks
and my favorite food is pizza.
My best friend is a white girl named Denisewe look at boys together. She sat in front of me
All through grade school because of onr names:
O'Connor, Ozawa. Iknow the back of Denise's head very well.
Itell her she's going bald. She tells me Icopy on tests.
We are best friends.
Isaw Denise in Geography class.
She was sitting on the other side of the room.
"You're trying to start a war," she said, "giving secrets away
to the Enemy, Why can't you keep your big mouth shut?"
Ididn't know what to say.
Igave her a packet of tomato seeds
and asked her to plant them for me, told her
when the first tomato ripens
to miss me.

Response to the poem: Explain what you believe Okita was trying to get across in this poem. Why
write it-purpose/audience? In your opinion, did he achieve his purpose? How? What connections can
you make to the key ideas/themes we addressed in the introductory essay for Asian American literature?

The Bridge Poem

Donna Kate Rushin

I've had enough

I'm sick of seeing and touching
Both sides of things
Sick of being the damn bridge for everybody.
Nobody
Can talk to anybody
Without me
Right?
I explain my mother to my father my father to
my little sister
My little sister to my brother my brother to the
white feminists
The white feminists to the Black church folks
the Black church folks
To the ex-hippies the ex-hippies to the Black
separatists the
Black separatists to the artists the artists to my
friends' parents ...
Then
I've got to explain myself
To everybody
I do more translating
Than the Gawdamn U.N.
Forget it
I' m sick of it
I' m sick of filling in your gaps
Sick of being your insurance against
The isolation of your self-imposed limitations
Sick of being the crazy at your holiday dinners
Sick of being the odd one at your Sunday
Brunches
Sick of being the sole Black friend to 34
individual white people
Find another connection to the rest of the world
Find something else to make you legitimate
Find some other way to be political and hip
I will not be the bridge to your womanhood
Your manhood
Your human-ness
I'm sick of reminding you not to
Close off too tight for too long

I' m sick of mediating with your worst self

On behalf of your better selves
I am sick
Of having to remind you
To breathe
Before you suffocate
Your own fool self
Forget it
Stretch or drown
Evolve or die
The bridge I must be
Is the bridge to my own power
I must translate
My own fears
Mediate
My own weaknesses
I must be the bridge to nowhere
But my true self
And then
I will be useful