no train to china

i'll never give up my history
to assimilate into a culture
that has forgotten its name
a culture whose web
of ancestry.com videos
tries to sell back family history
that was lost
because it was more convenient
not to have to carry ID.
the stories of my people
involve telling white people
with white tongues
how to fill out white papers.
a white stamp on our head
tax certificate: a white lie.
the least wanted:
the most documented
and white i white my story,
50, 100, 150 years later
white letters turn brown
in well-whited archives
listed addresses in the white pages
never white delivered
to village homes
in red china.

still,lost
grandfather's secrets murmur
beneath white
blankets on gold mountain,
under a fresh layer of
white noise.

This poem was inspired by the ACCESS community television broadcast series Uncovering Gold, which discusses Chinese-Canadian migration through a multimedia format. Part 1 can be found here: http://youtu.be/eP5dakbuXG8.

high society

“the master’s tools will never
dismantle
the master’s house
but we are not mere tools
so let us not speak of our troubles
yours
and mine
inside this castle..}
{this fortress
is fortified
by hands
crumbled under bricks
and lay against crushed clay mortar
as if moths between jars
and concrete;
metal hats
fit not our crowns
and royal jelly
dissolves our teeth.

our conversation
never meant was contained to be:
the word,when  &
the creator spoke silence
into nothingness

we are (and always halve been) -ness  and -ness
and -ness  and -ness,
less than a whole
but always together
more

———————
The beginning of the quote is the title of an essay on anti-racist, pro-queer feminism by Audre Lorde. The essay can be found here: http://lists.econ.utah.edu/pipermail/margins-to-centre/2006-March/000794.html

we don’t need a new sidewalk

we don't need a new sidewalk,
we need a new road.
we need a new road.
we need a new road.
we need a new road.

lantern magic

made in MS Paint

the only divide

the only divide of
land and water
is the negotiating table,
the coastline,
that fluidly
moves
with the motions
of the moon.

mostly water (poem)

if i could see a drop of rain
from the inside
i would still
never understand
water

even in my bed
at night
my body somehow leaks moisture
and i am left thirsty,
forced to trek from my cocoon
for another drink

in a glass of water
a pencil becomes
a bended ray of light
pointing at impossible angles
and when removed
is again straight
the glass no less changed
than before

water is not the air i breathe
yet it is a part of each breath

water shapes the world
the morning dew from which bees drink,
the slow drip that smooths canyon walls
and hollows mountains,
the summer waterfalls over desert cliffs
the deep springs lapped from the lips of deer
water is more necessary to life
than air

we are born in water, and that is where we will return.
we are not dust turning to dust,
nor ash to ash,
but
we are water turning to water.

if life is a song

if your life is a song,
then every moment is a note
that sometimes strings together other memories
that remind me of the moment
that remind me of the memories
an open note
a reminder of the rest
depending on my mood.