Seven Changs

At night your growth rate doubles and each morning I spot
yet another Chang

in the newspaper, staring at me with its dull lamps. I limp up
a mountainside

toward a growing opal. Oracle, is this the way up to the litle office
with orange lights?

Let's not argue this time. For the last time, we argued
Over the arrival

of another Victoria Chang. Changed from Valerie to Victoria
and now my ruin,

for she, a track star, runs faster than a seashore. Shared bunks
were never favored by me,

a has-been-girl or even worse, a not-yet-girl. And don't even mention
the others

faces smashed against the door, Helen Chang, Heather Chang.
Hilary Chang.

And with each new Chang, the shock of the world goes down,
drawn to the next eyeless eel

or the one-legged constellation. The next seven Victoria Changs,
all victorious,

in rows, each a little taller than the last. Their fevered footsteps persist,
fist me into midnights.