I am the hyphenated
girl, strolling through streets eyeing
issues of the Chronicle at each
street corner, television screens
flashing through glass
windows playing Good Morning
America.
I arrive at home where
my spirits are awakened by
the burning incense, Chinese symbols of
red and gold painted on the walls, the smell
of freshly steamed rice as I
graze into the kitchen.
These are the
sights and sounds of my
H-Y-P-H-E-N
life,
my hyphenated life.
A rampage of
fireworks and confetti spring us
into the new world every
January 1st when the clock strikes
twelve.
And February follows with
dancing dragons frolicking through
crowded streets where the air is
filled in unison with
Gung Hay Fat Choy.
Hamburgers, hot dogs,
Pork buns, moon cakes
flourish through the dinner table.
Where I eat at, where I
live at, where I’m
from,
my hyphenated
world,
my hyphenated
life.