(28) On Doyer Street
We sat within the window seat
And watched the L-shaped cobbled street
We sat as lovers on display
Who watch the light slip from the day
We sat beside a potted palm
Your tabled-hand soft and calm
A Chinese crone served us tea
She grinned at our felicity
Perched in the window, a perfect room
A porcelain couple, richly groomed,
Elegantly sipping tea
Victorian in their majesty
But oh, the yearning o’er the pot
May this perfection never stop
Turn flesh to clay and fire it
That we may so forever sit
The shadows draped and masked your face
You poured my tea with silvered grace
Grains of sugar in a whirlpool
Swirling in your sovereign rule
But the dim sum came on a rolling cart
And the dishes chased our hands apart
The old crone worked her timeless trade
Green teeth shown with each dish laid
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem