2 poems

Land of Plenty

She reaches up into the goldpecked leaves 

to pluck a kumquat off the tree. Here in 

Měiguó, 

this land of abundance, ripened fruit is left 

on the tree to fall and rot. Crimson 

cherries and deepblued plums are flayed 

upon the suburban sidewalk, fleshpicked 

by birds. My grandmother gleans what 

píng guǒ 

remains

threaded to the trees as we walk. Her pockets 

swell and stain as she will let nothing go to waste. 

American 

neglect 

is our treasure she whispers to me. My little 

hands are full of tiny gold ingots, carrying my 

birthright, 

these ornamental prizes—

sour and oversweet.

---

a circle

is a roundabout way to draw a line / arms embracing / is the path my memory takes / is a net / to return to where we began / a bubble of air that breaks upon the surface of water / is a spiral seen from above / is my dream / is the flight of the indigo moth / is not an actual spiral / oleander / is an ellipse from another view / is to wonder if I can ever go home again / a balloon / is the same pressure both inside and out / of soft, rosy petals / is the moth, circling us both / one link in a chain, flattened by time / is a hole / is how my dreams return to the past / is something I fall into and disappear /