I’m from the dry red dirt
of He’nan
I’m from the thatched roads
of China’s countryside
with the dirty, minimally-clad children
running on the unpaved streets
or in Beijing’s communist concrete roads
I’m from the paved streets
of Ning Po
where a girl itches her long fingers,
staring at her classmate playing
the violin
while a boy looks at the closed fists of his father
telling him he has to quit school
to work for jia
I’m from the immigrants who rode the rocky boat
to leave the land of death, oppression
and permanent children of Atlas.
I’m from the dream of
Gatsby’s mansions, and
silver platters waiting for me
in the land
where Liberty bell rings.