This story key is about “Forked!”, an etheree. If you wish to read the poem, click here.
Author’s note: For context, this poem originated as something that actually happened to me when I went to a Japanese restaurant on vacation in Kentucky over Labor Day in 2025. The food was good and the atmosphere was very authentic! I was immensely enjoying my experience until the waitress offered me a fork instead of chopsticks. I was immediately offended, because I have a background of educating myself on Asian culture. I have my degree in Global Studies with an emphasis on Asia, particularly China; and, I took two years of Chinese language towards a Chinese language minor for my undergrad. Even as I write in August 2026, I’m watching a lot of Japanese anime and working my way towards my second degree in International Relations. But, in my twenties, I taught myself how to use chopsticks, after I learned how much I liked Asian food, as much as I enjoyed the culture. I have been using them ever since; and, I now keep a few actual pairs on hand in case I eat sushi or get some sort of Asian take out.
But, I also instantly understood why she did that, because, while my heart may be Asian in so many regards, my skin is white. And here I was, a white woman in a Japanese restaurant, slurping ramen in a culturally appropriate way like a pig in mud. There was no way she knew my background. She just made an assumption based on my race. “Who do you think I am?”, I thought, indignant, refusing the fork and keeping on with my chopsticks. “A white woman who doesn’t know her privilege,” I criticized myself later, after talking and thinking more about the situation with others.
Nonetheless, I felt it was an opportune moment to write about racial identity. I read Amanda Gorman’s “Call Us What We Carry” and how she dove into this topic expertly and easily. I thought, as a white woman, I may never be able to write poems about race like she did as a black woman; but, I wanted to try my hand at writing about the topic anyway. And so, this poem was born. An early draft was entitled, “Who do you think I am?”, then “Privilege”, but neither title seemed to completely fit.
Then, after I wrote the poem, I started noticing this trend around the internet, with people experiencing much of the same phenomenon. People who appeared like they weren’t Asian were getting offered forks at Asian restaurants instead of chopsticks. I wasn’t the only one this was happening to! The trend was called, “Getting forked!”, where people joked about how offended they felt when the waiter or waitress misjudged them based on their skin color. And so, I landed on the current title, “Forked!”, denoting this comedic trend (and to speak about my similar experience). Allow me to offer up a couple of those videos here:
That said, my wish for this poem is that you see it as a poem about race, but that you also appreciate that a person’s race or how they look doesn’t dictate their cultural identity, much as this waitress assumed with me or others in this trend. Maybe it’s better to assume they can use chopsticks and then, if they ask for a fork, give them that? Moreover, it’s important to recognize the beautiful spectrum of colors before us, and appreciate it for what it is. I want to say I held off for a long time on publishing this, because I was afraid of offending someone in the process; nonetheless, I hope you at least get that much out of what I’m trying to say here in this poem and that this story key gives some explanation to that fact.
This story key is copyright 2026 by Jessica McLean. File sharing is encouraged.
The Rose 