Poetry
1 min
Haibun for lazy weekends in the Sunset District
Sophia T.
Saturday — grandmother takes me to chinese school,
& on the car ride home tries to show me how to fit
awkward syllables into american-born mouths.
when we get hungry we go to the dimsum shops on noriega street
& when we finish i do not say "thank you" but
"Mmm goi" and wave goodbye to
all the dimsum ladies i call "auntie."
& on the car ride home tries to show me how to fit
awkward syllables into american-born mouths.
when we get hungry we go to the dimsum shops on noriega street
& when we finish i do not say "thank you" but
"Mmm goi" and wave goodbye to
all the dimsum ladies i call "auntie."
Sunday — grandmother hands me a small bag of packaged pork buns,
& tells me to wait outside the 23rd street irving butcher shop
while she haggles for a pound of freshly made char siu.
in the evening we eye our spoils like the dragons of old folktales
& laugh over bowls of steamed white fish—
the dish is sprinkled with onions, bedecked in black bean sauce—
to be served eagerly into a waiting relative's mouth.
the immigrant dream;
the asian american truth;
or—how i found home.
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