Poetry: “Q” by Tiffany Hsieh

Q 

Once or twice a week the sky cracks an egg over the neighborhood. Moms in the park fuss over the white stuff and wipe it all over themselves and the kids. Dogs I’ve never seen before are out with dog owners I’ve not pinged before. This Chinese man who always dresses like he is in the North Pole drags his moon boots in waltz time. When it’s time to eat, I break the yolk and tell hubby breakfast for dinner is served. He is over easy at 6’2” and by 6:30 my sexy oven is baked to a ramen Q. That is what you say in Taiwan when the food is chewy. QQ for double chewy. Is it just me or do you see two eggs swimming with short-legged sperms? Is that why some of them don’t make it? 

About Tiffany Hsieh

Tiffany Hsieh was born in Taiwan and moved to Canada at the age of fourteen. Her work has appeared in The Los Angeles Review, The Malahat Review, Poet Lore, Room, Salamander, The Shanghai Literary Review, and others. She has been nominated for Best Microfiction, Best Small Fictions, and Best of the Net. She lives in southern Ontario.