West

or how the white powder from dumpling skins inevitably ends up in my eyebrows and how the stuffing always escapes so when I try to press the edges together they slip apart and sit disheveled next to my mother’s sitting fat and proud or how I grew up knowing there was a whole world directly beneath my feet and sometimes when I didn’t want to go to bed I would imagine burrowing through the planet with a shovel and some tenacity and that way it would always be daytime and I wouldn’t ever have to sleep but I am worried that if I try to explain the hands the dumplings the shovel dreams it will translate all wrong bursting brassy bronze and oriental from soft round american mouths, like: crouching pot hidden lotus golden tiger opium warrior good fortune tea dragon vi. it must have been awhile ago but at some point, someone for you must have also decided to sail across the glinting ocean with a few pennies and a dream and perhaps an english dictionary to this dusty golden island vii.

I look at you your hairy legs, your toothy grin, the glint from your thick-rimmed glasses you only speak english you get too drunk you fling yourself at the world with a recklessness that makes me both jealous and disapproving but you are ok, for a white guy -niuniu teo 57