June 3, 2011

Sidling down Bayard’s shady side, early sun already beach-bright, fingers scalded by large green tea hot no milk, assaulted by fresh fish on the corner of Mulberry – and, safe: fresh pork bun steams through the wax paper, my plump good luck charm.

May 13, 2011

I would be as lost at your Akron crossroads as you are at my Chinatown Five Points. I swim with traffic; you wait at stoplights. I don’t want to have anything in common with you, but I do (and it’s not pristine white sneakers).

January 9, 2011

Caramel ducks strung across the window, necks canted over the string as they loll in the late afternoon sun, canard drapes that reveal a pale, sweaty man with dark eyebrows peering into his large pot. I love the cheap, chipped tile floor, pale as the man, as the plastic cup with steaming green tea, and the bowl – bits of leg and neck poke through noodles as the sun shines through a gap in the drapes.