Chinese again

“Which one will you sit in?” she said sheepishly.
I had a ripe ripe bird, which was the only thing left to eat. I ripped off one leg, and thought about the previous years, the ones in which everything was vivid but still calm in its grand vividness, and I shoved it so hard into her ear that she finally lost the placenta out of her path, and it was then that we knew it was possible: The birth of the first child born after the Great Time Zone Wars. We were Chinese again, after years of being forced to birth white ladies’ babies out of our own intricate systems of womb and canals, while the white dilletantes continued to drink their mint julips and shove all the leftover mint leaves into their wombs.