Tonight a man walks down
Main Street, into a dim
retreat of street lights, the snowfall
glazed over from the storm. Night
is lighted on 54th, branching
from a token of stores: George Michael
Suits Outlet, Marin Travel, Bay Ridge
Deli. Walking on he tells me,
Four years ago a tornado
came through blasting shingles,
the rooftops. It was summer and
humid. I had just gotten off from
work, a late night shift at the hospital.
I spent the morning
with my mother, as we picked
up the asphalt petals encircling her
home of two decades. She passed
not too long after.
~
Tonight, our quiet encircling, walking
past his childhood
home on 58th, coming
into the light radar of Main Street,
with nothing but
wet snap
sounds lettering
the ground.
~
“If dreams prove worthy to
remember, they close
on what remains unspoken,
forbidden.”
~
This dream portrait
says, halved: the lessons
of human and serpent
in each of us. The boundary of myth
is in its resemblance, a life
summoned halved as two
equals, saying
our quiet rivals
are always the same.
Socio-Economic Polarization in the Chinatown Community:
How the Rich Reap their Wealth from the Poor
Or Spirit Killers
the winter wind sits in the living room
so we huddle in the kitchen in our winter coats looking silly
and too cold to do anything
but light a candle eat melon seeds
as I wonder
what do we wear when we go outside?
— poem by Frances Chung, p. 25, 1970
from “Crazy Melon & Green Apples”
hi susan,
the poem was really moving; thank you for posting it. i’d like to read more of her work soon.
cris