Apple Grill Buffet

by Karen Zheng

5 August 2026

Dead hours at the restaurant means eyes Struggle to find their landing. Fish stare In the dark. Crab sticks line themselves into my bed. Freezer air hardens my dance of hunger. Latch suction, metal thud.

My mother collects me and forgets me And remembers me only when she needs to eat me. Her visits are blurry and quick and plastic. House-special sauce erodes her figure.

Where is my next chew? My specimen Is showing wear. Soon, I will be trashed With expired wontons and limp cilantro. Slime arrives in blots. To haunt this restaurant, I mold its walls.

about the author

Karen Zheng is a queer, Chinese-American poet and writer. Their poetry has been featured in Harbor Review, Bellevue Literary Review, and elsewhere. She has received fellowships from the Breadloaf Writers’ Conference, Inprint MD Anderson Foundation, and others. They have been nominated for the Best of the Net Awards and the Pushcart Prize. Find out more about her at karenzheng.com.

@__k.z on Instagram
@KarenZheng20 on Twitter.

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