by Katie Xin 

thou art an oriental wonderland,
melting molten hotpot of
sino-tibetan,
the scent of dreams, dumplings,
and drive
blesses you
the stench of dirt, desperation,
and desolation vexes
you 

spice, smell of tiger balm as
miracle cure
you are pale in sun,
tan in moon
 lips crusted with red bean and l
egs aching from the miles it
takes
to make
it here, america, the land of the
free,
now 

amber light, you kiss high roofs
atop houses in which longing
young elders miss their youths
grandma, your life is filled with
rice pot bellies and nine to five
“yes, it’s hard,” you say, “but at
least, i am alive.” 

grandma, have you ever had the
privilege to live? 

golden noodle soup scalds the
roof of my mouth, yet i am
careful to never let it out
hold it, repress that gold 

bodies crowd this boulevard
my stomach cranks like a lucky
cat arm
with ravenous eyes, i rush past
sanguine paper lanterns,
on the hunt for soup wontons
with a longing gaze at cezanne
chinese characters drawn on
artifact neon paper boards from
1848 

the hate is forgotten here,
yet omnipresent as steam from a
 bamboo basket, invisible until
that man at the supermarket
gives you a leer.
the sunspotted faces, wrinkled
yellow pages, breathe.
the poor, the tired, the huddled
masses.
and we will be free
Lees and Wongs,
seas of old song
image of you belong
comfort me
me
 me
 me
you rainbow of storefronts
perseverance is the sky
it changes its form and colors
 but it will always be here
it always has been 

this yarn blanket of
social security wraps itself
 around me
how can home be so far away?
 i sprint across your sidewalks
downhill, downhill,
cartwheels and backflips
stomach flooded with yellow cuisine,
i forget what white is
the only light i see is in your faces
i forget what being different is
i am connected, bigger than myself
watch this net fly as you let it
here i stand on the legacies of
those from before, the unsung
pioneer heroes whom silence
chokes unrelenting
i breathe in history, it is bitter
and unforgiving
i exhale the future, it is sweet
and always living
the blurry of traffic honks
creates its own hot & sour stew
the crisp excitement of my city
flushes my cheeks
as i walk around this avenue,
this avenue sinks into me
this is where my freedom came   from
chinatown, land of the free 

you raised me, bit by bit
 and i will raise you this 
grateful, proud
value realized in self and others
 longing for belonging
in a community built on   uncertainty
explore cultural enclaves,
collect these experiences and
treasure them as soul souvenirs
 connection is not found in
others, but in oneself 

you build community
 you build others
you are each others’
 hunt for it
this never ending love
 chase it.
run, hop, scream
 loops and twists
go wherever you are bound
but i,
i will always end up
in chinatown