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Su Cho
​

Tangerine Trees & Little Bags of Sugar

My   mother   speaks   of   how  she  was   born
on  an  island,  where a father grew a  family of
seven     from     one    single    tangerine    tree
purchased  from  a  local trader.  How he saved
for a plot of land & the tangerines were good―
so  good.  My mother speaks of how  a  mother
would   travel   back   to   Seoul   alone  to  buy
sugar—heaps  of  sugar  in  clumpy bags—bring
it   back   to   package   them   with  ribbons  &
rippling  clear  cello  to the people on the island
who  didn’t  know it was  possible to  cross  the
ocean.  How  these tangerine trees  and bags of
sugar     birthed      a     brick-lined      mansion,
chauffeurs,   &  gift  boxe s of  echoing  Korean
pears to each of her  &  her sibling’s classrooms.
A  whole  heavy  box for  every  teacher.   As  I
frown and complain that these pears even from
Jersey aren’t sweet,  she tells  me to be thankful
& that if I can’t shave  the  skin off these pears I
will never get married.  Be grateful that I get to
pick  this  fruit.   Grateful  that  we   received  a
shipping box full of bruised tangerines that still
grew on the island when they were still alive to
remind  us of work.  How I  used  scrunch  my
nose at  the  furry bruised skin & marvel  when
peeled,  inside  was plump fruit,  tasting like all
the sugar & sweat carried across the ocean until
everyone was satisfied.




Su Cho currently serves as the Editor-in-Chief of Indiana Review and attends the Indiana University MFA Program.
She received her BA in English, Creative Writing, and Psychology from Emory University. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Word Riot, Sugared Water, and Crab Orchard Review. 




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