Attendance
Spread across chairs, the stairs, the floor, we sit as two
aunts call roll: How many dumplings will you eat?
Six, eight, ten. My mother tallies our appetites, 正正正
on a doctor’s old note to see if we can spring
for them at five cents each. All of us want a break
from the bentos—all the rice and cabbage this week.
When we call to order, they say their prices
have gone up. Would we like to buy frozen packs instead,
cook them at home? Those are ready fast. We hang up.
Fifteen of us, quiet. Around the room again.
My grandfather has died. New tally, new total.
We count nickels. The kitchen tank might still have gas.
Funereal
A murmuration of joss paper—
charred en route to the border—
lingers above the procession,
a gray-grave hum
in the hall of banyans.
Curved mountains in the distance
quiet the red-eyed koels.
Quiet, the red-eyed koels
curve mountains in the distance.
In the hall of banyans,
a gray-grave hum
lingers above the procession
charred en route to the border.
A murmuration of joss paper.
La casa de la esquina
after The Corner House [Villa Kochmann, Dresden] by Ludwig Meidner, 1913
This kind of house would have been my grandmother’s
Gray peeling
wood creaky
and wide as a ship off-kilter.
Slight winds trigger
its whine. Neighbors fear its three
stories a tower of popsicles gnawed away
one lick
from toppling. Just last year tornadoes took
twelve houses off this street.
Let there be no doubt she would have been happy inside, surrounde
by mirrors furred in dust
stacks of toys wrapped in mold unplayed guitars
dresses wrinkled unworn seed piles under branches rusted kettles
post office figurines unopened piggy banks
hair dryers still boxed in ‘80s glamour curls magenta
plastic bags of last year’s moon cakes newspapers
calendars ads as upholstery cutlery bundled in rubber bands
glasses of wrong prescriptions a mound of tablecloths on which to sleep—
Tonight a storm will shake this house thunder
like the tea she taught me to make:
pound sesame seeds in a mortar
crush peanuts grind the leaves
until brittled dark as a pine’s shadow.
The flood will sweep the dregs
uproot the tree steal
her treasures for debris. This house is just like her
the water will drain and still all three storie
will remain.
