NORTH AMERICAN GROUNDS
The checkered flag grows wild on Grand Street,
as the Chinese girls are smiling. No one really
knows why. We all withered in the kitchen
for a long, hot Summer now gone. The dumpling
cart, like some frosty cake with icing, swirled
round and round, every hour anew.
-
No one left. No one ever came home. We loved
every moment : the businessmen in suits who
would come in to watch the horse-races on TV,
Asian guys between deals, loud and laughing.
Throwing dumb money around. No one ever
won anything at all. It was light and airy.
-
When I met your first cousin Hua-Mei,
I knew right off she was related to you :
somehow same dimple, twisted smile, and
those wandering green eyes. You both
said something about your fathers being
the same, but first-cousins nonetheless.
Not in this land. I didn't follow at all.
-
When the sugar-berry fell to the ground
everyone rushed, praising Buddha, to
pick it back up. You all lit candles in the
bowl, with twelve oranges around it.
Odd customs, and this North American
land. Old, old stories on this
North American ground.
No one really knows
why.
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