Chinatown

A laundry line of lanterns--

crimson, crinkled paper

and here come the shiny

silk dragon dancers;

wok smoke, opium aroma,

frying duck scent drift out

the crowded door of Golden

Palace kitchen as fireworks

sizzle upward above pagoda

roofs, as celebrants burn

monopoly money for departed

ancestors, as drums, flutes and

plucked gourds draw revelers

who snake along the street

and this goes on to midnight

when it’s dumpling time and

time to light the candles

and time to eat the cookies

with coins baked inside and

someone sings a sad, drunken

song, a woman weeps loudly

and lovers kiss secretly and

elders close their eyes and

pray softly for luck and

wealth and one more year.

 

--Miguel de O

Done