Elena Zhang : on My Little Sister

 

 

 

 

This chapbook grew out of the poem, “Lemons,” first published in Frozen Sea. It’s a little fictional account of a narrator losing their little sister, and after writing it I found myself wanting to continue exploring this fragile relationship between siblings.

I’ve always found this familial connection interesting, reflecting on my own experiences with my siblings, and just thinking about the idea of what it really means to be siblings. How can children grow up in the same household, yet have completely different childhoods? What truly keeps siblings together? How do they reflect each other’s personalities? How would siblings relate to each other if they were strangers? Siblings are sort of forced together as children without any choice in the matter. How does that impact their relationship? Would siblings choose each other as adults?

I didn’t necessarily want to answer these questions in my poems, but rather evoke these ideas through imagery and feeling. It was also fun to play around with different lines and forms, which I hadn’t done much before since I had mainly written prose poems. Some of the poems also came from much longer pieces of flash fiction that I felt weren’t really working, but ended up feeling much more impactful as tiny poems.

I hope this chapbook ends up resonating with a wide range of people, not just those who have siblings, but also people who think about the weird nature of friendships, found family, and invisible bonds.

 

 

 

Elena Zhang is a Chinese American writer and mother living in Chicago. She is the author of the micro-chapbook The Moon, My Heart (tiny wren lit, 2025) and My Little Sister (above/ground press, 2026), and her work can be found in HAD, Wigleaf, and X-R-A-Y, among other publications. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, and was selected for Best Microfiction 2024, 2025, and 2026.

Elena Zhang : Two poems

 

 

Barophobia

The superhero could not find a cure for his lice.
Invisibility streamed dreams into his scalp.
Flying burned his hair into skin.
At night, the superhero slept inside the walls.
He was never alone, and that was the way he liked it.
When it rained, the dawn chorus woke the villains,
and the superhero stood on the brink of a volcano
to find out what was true.  

 

 

 

You’re allowed just one phone call

You’re allowed just one phone call after you die. The phone call must last for at least thirty hours but no more than five years. You can only call the last person you shared a meal with. Your conversation must not contain the words “love,” “sorry,” or “bird.” Your conversation must include the words “forgive,” “home,” and “ballet.” All phone calls will be recorded and then erased. The erased recording will be played on your birthday. You cannot laugh while listening to the recording. Failure to adhere to the rules will cost you ten points. Your time starts now.

 

 

 

 

 

Elena Zhang is a Chinese American writer and mother living in Chicago. Her work can be found in HAD, The Citron Review, and X-R-A-Y, among other publications. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, and was selected for Best Microfiction 2024 and 2025.