seventh summer

i imagine the streets of hong kong as they echo 

the radiance of light jī dàn zǎi 

po po brings it home from the packed marketplace 

and we, the children 

shuffle through 

thousands of clear wrapped plastic toys and shirts 

po po negotiates with the vendors 

as we pick them one by one 

the vendor brings out a fresh steaming pot of gālí yúdàn

he takes out the curry sauce and fish ball for his 

line of customers 

while baba stands there in the sweltering heat 

waiting for his 

the sounds of aggressively screaming ladies 

and a nauseating mix of 

cream sauces and fruit cutters 

the light of foreign letters in their yellow and red pigments

rows of apartment buildings with their beams 

as old as they can be 

the scent of sticky rice packs and 

che jie mian 

the sounds 

of smiling and families of deaf grandmothers who yell while they greet

their grandchildren 

around a lazy susan