april 7,2005

tasty of china


from the time
i was little
i have wanted
to be chinese.

obviously when mom said
that of course i could be
anything-
the sky was the limit-
nothing could stop me...
she probably did not
have this in mind.

i love everything about them.
the women are so beautiful
with their shiny thick hair
and they are always tiny
thin and stylish
they are so ripe and rich
with culture
they belong to their music
and clothes and food and eachother.

and really-what am i.
mongrel.
mutt.
my culture is american-
because the waters are so muddy.
and so i'm apple pie
with homeade crust
fourth of july picnics
sparklers and hot dogs
and it seems so
peripheral and silly.

i would sit in
chinese restaurants
trying to master
the art of chopsticks
taking in the smells
the music
elevator chinese music
and the red and gold
new year decorations
dragons and crazy cats
trying to find out
what animal i am
according to
the year of my birth.

and the cute little
children who sit patiently
wait for mom and dad
with their sweet faces
show me to my table
pour my water
and i always hope
for the lemon slice
(good luck)
and their famlies
seem so strong
and happy and i make friends
with waiters and owners
and they really seem to like me.

hong pan sent me
letters when i moved away.
with chinese mysterious
candy and hello kitty.
and peter ran out and
bought me a watermelon
because they were
out of watermelon juice
and i bask
the good fortunes
and i hold
my breath for the wishes
and i know
that i must be happy
with uncle sam and old glory
its not that i'm not proud
or teary eyed or hand over heart
really i am.
it's just the restlessness.
the rolling over
and over and not quite
comfortable
in this skin
in this heart
in this life.
year of the rabbit.