i chop so many vegetables these days, the way you taught me
blade held slantwise, angled away from the hand. do you remember
my six-year-old eyes, so wide with wonder
at the speed with which you sliced
carrots became orange coins, potatoes became cubes, like magic?
i was mesmerized by how quickly you could cut ,how deep.
“i started working in a kitchen when i was your age,” you told me
Cantonese syllables falling short and choppy on my ears
matching the taktaktak of your knife on the cutting board,
“i saw a man lose a finger once. one careless slice, finger gone!
forever.”
i learned from you that knives can only cut one way
magic only works one way
you don’t get back what you’ve cut off
so now that we are a continent apart
i will not know it when you die. i’ll hear
over the phone, perhaps by email, after the fact.
but the moment itself is lost to me, cut off, cut out
by words and time and geography, all knives
i will be chopping vegetables when you die, nonchalant
steam rising from the pot on the stove, and perhaps
as you exhale your last breath
close your eyes,
go still,
my hand will slip
blood flowing between carrot slices, escaping
into my soup, where it will taste
so salty, so bitter, and sweet
the way blood always tastes.
the river
someone told me once
that a secret river flows
under every street
in every chinatown in every city
in the world. and this river speaks
in a secret language that sounds like
a sigh
and stretches
to follow every footstep, every turn, every twisting alleyway
to swallow every sacrifice our mothers made
every blow our fathers struck, every
drop
that ever fell
from slanted eyes spilling over
withjoy or sorrow
it is in this thirsty, salty river
that forgotten names are born
Kai Cheng
Xiao Mei
Ei Lien
Bic Lein
Yeet Jin
Yao On
shadows without bodies, words without tongues
these names swirl in the river of sighs, whispering
the secrets of their meanings as they wait for the nameless
to return
Oi Lein
Ah Keem Kai Cheng
Xiao Mei Yao On
beneath the motor-rumble roar of vancouver’s cityscape
i can hear the shushing of a river
it stretches across the sea
it reaches across the years
it slithers into the Cantonese restaurant where i am sitting
and suddenly i am drawing in
smells tastes memories cravings
for places i don’t remember
and dishes i never liked
stories i didn’t understand
relatives i never loved
the waitress comes to take my order
but all the chinese words have been crowded out by longing
and i am forced to point to pictures on the menu instead
ears burning with embarrassment
and full of the river’s laughter
Kai Cheng
Xiao Mei
Ei Lien
Bic Lein
Yeet Jin
Yao On
dancing to the drumbeat pulse of amateur DJs in montreal’s nightscape,
i am swinging sweaty hips
and licking the salt off my lips in the arms of a stranger
who tells me that he loves the sound of chinese
so musical
a beautiful language, for a beautiful people
nihao, he says, lei haileng jai
and i smile,
and say, i’d like a tequila sunrise, please
and because he buys me one, i let him kiss me his lips taste like cinnamon
he asks me
what’s your name?
and i tell him
he says, no, i mean your real name. your Chinese name
and suddenly the walls of this nightclub fortress,
this place where desire grows like something forbidden,
begin to crumble,
the foundations of this queer-love-island-in-the-dark
begin to shake, and i can hear the sound of history
crashing down like a current
bearing down like a flood
sweeping down like a hurricane
i lost my name to the river,
i lost my memory to dreams,
i cannot sleep for dreaming,
i dream live body geographies, nations
sculpted from the permeable borders of skin
wet warm earth-coloured wombs that swell
and rise and tremble with the moon
to give birth to babies connected by blue-river veins of memory
my blond white lover tells me that the revolution
will begin in New York he says
that when the revolution comes there will be no colours,
no classes
no genders
no nations,
my lover tells me that when the revolution comes, he will hold me
and our kisses will undo every blow ever struck,
will turn back every sacrifice we ever made,
erase every scar i have ever borne,
and replenish all the soil we have ever drained of life
my lover tells me
that when the revolution comes, we will make love as the towers burn
and all the empty spaces in me my body my spirit will be filled
Oi Lein
Ah Keem Kai Cheng
Xiao Mei
darling, when your revolution comes, i will not be here,
when the towers start to burn, i will be the first to die,
when the bombs start to fall, my love, i will go down to
the river
i will wait for you in the river
where the names of my forefathers and foremothers were
born,
where the bodies of the forgotten float
Ah Keem
Oi Lien Yao On
and when you tire of watching the explosions
perhaps you will come to me then, my darling
perhaps you will make love to me
to my closed eyes to my still limbs
perhaps you will fill my empty spaces with your anger
your longing your lust
and whisper
the revolution’s come, the revolution’s come
i’ve saved you, you’re free
Xiao Mei
Ei Lien
Bic Lein
Yeet Jin
Yao On
someone told me once that a secret river flows through every rib cage
of every coloured person who’s ever been lost. and this river speaks
in a secret language that sounds like a sigh. the river remembers
everything that we’ve ever forgotten, every footstep, every turn
every twisting alleyway, every blow our mothers struck, every sacrifice
our fathers made. and this river waits for us to return to it, waits for us
to return to ourselves,
to kneel at the bank of the forgotten stream
of our bloodlines, where all our forgotten names
are waiting to be born.
Kai Cheng
Xiao Mei
Ei Lien
Bic Lein
Yeet Jin
Yao On
girlboy, you femme femm
e fabulous
cuz today’s the day you stop defining yourself by the lines the knives the hands the knuckles belt buckles blades left on your arms legs chest face today’s the day you start to breathe in three dimensions again. time to paint your nails red again. time to grow your hair long enough to tie up and put flowers in and walk along the beach into the wind and let the petal fragrance waft around you like a cloud. mingling with the salt tang of the surf that sprays cool against your beautiful legs so long and so bare in short shorts with cuffs so high they make heaven blush like dawn is coming dawn is coming dawn is here. boy, sometime you got to forget what someone said to you what someone did to you how much you hurt. you got to forgive yourself for hurting. you got to remember that your heart is not a clenched fist your heart is not a bruised face your heart is a mango full to bursting with sunlight oh sticky heart, smooth substance, there is joy in your aching, refuse to surrender the memory of your flavour. delicious heart, refuse to forget. boy, you got to love the girl in the boy in the girl in the boy in you in you in you.
boy, you got to love the girl in the boy in the girl in the boy in you in you in you. delicious heart, refuse to forget. you got to remember that your heart is not a clenched fist your heart is not a bruised face your heart is a mango full to bursting with sunlight oh sticky heart, smooth substance, there is joy in your aching, refuse to surrender the memory of your flavour. you got to forgive yourself for hurting. boy, sometime you got to forget what someone said to you what someone did to you how much you hurt. mingling with the salt tang of the surf that sprays cool against your beautiful legs so long and so bare in short shorts with cuffs so high they make heaven blush like dawn is coming dawn is coming dawn is here. time to grow your hair long enough to tie up and put flowers in and walk along the beach into the wind and let the petal fragrance waft around you like a cloud. time to paint your nails red again. cuz today’s the day you stop defining yourself by the lines the knives the hands the knuckles belt buckles blades left on your arms legs chest face today’s the day you start to breathe in three dimensions again.
girlboy, you femme femme fabulous
Prayer
[To the East]
For the colonizers, and the shadow of their violence
For my ancestors, and the echo of their silence
[To the West]
You have known me, with your body’s violence
Remember me, with touch and silence
[To the North]
God damn God and His Creation’s violence
God damn God, who answers with silence
[To the South]
Forgive me, for my violence
Save me, with the gift of silence
M’goi, Megwetch, Ashe, Amen
made
They made me. like god. They said, let there be light –
and there was. and They said let there be desire
and there was. and They said, let there be shame
and there was. They made me. from dust and from dirt
from the shameful soil of the ugly earth i was made
They said, “come forth,” and obedient as dust, i appeared
stretch-skinned and raw-boned, my heart a skinny offering
hungry as shadow and silent as worship, i came
to serve in silence and leave the same, i was made.
in bathrooms and back rooms, in alleyways
and empty stairwells, They made me
from the drops of their sweat and the trickle of blood
as They bit down on my lips, from the tickle of fingers
as They scraped my ribs, they made me. in the dark.
in Their image They made me, but smaller:
smaller fingers, smaller eyes, smaller asshole, smaller cock.
the better to be fucked with, my dear. fucking was the secret.
fucking is the Word. fucking is Word of God. fucking
more than breathing, more than seeing, more than facebook
makes you real.
in the darkness that was Before Fucking, Nothing wanted
to be made real. because Nothing wasn’t enough of Anything
to be a Something. Nothing spoke no language.
Nothing did not know touch. Nothing had no hair on its chest
no blue in its eyes, no gold in its hair or light in its skin. Nothing
was not in fashion magazines or the radio. Nothing
was not televised. Nothing was not the revolution. Nothing
was not even close.
so Nothing took its skinny heart to the rain-soaked streets.
Nothing danced its shaking body to a quivering beat. Nothing
whirled and twirled and clicked its heels and drank jäger bombs
that it discreetly vomited a few minutes later, and wanted
and wished
and made silly promises to the restless universe. so when They came
asking for obedience, Nothing said yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.
yes to the light and the darkness and the desire. yes to being born. yes
to blow jobs for nothing at three in the morning, yes to dirty talk
dirty like the soiled and rotten earth, yes to come here, bitch
and suck it, bitch and you like that, bitch? yes to intimacy
yes to the possibility of being loved. yes to the hand on the thigh, crawling
up and under, yes to being slapped in the face. yes, i’ll be a bottom. yes
i am your bitch. yes, your cock is huge. yes, put it up my ass, yes
it’s fine without a condom, yes fuck me fuck me fuck me till i bleed.
yes to fisting! yes to being born!
yes i’m fine, no need to feel guilty for the bruises, yes
i like it, yes
i love you, yes
to the scrape of your nails on my rectum, yes
to touch. yes
iwanna be sexy, yes I wanna be happy, yes
iwanna come, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, i said yes
god damn you, god damn god, i said yes. yes to the light-bringer!
yes to filth. yes to the apple! yes to eve!
yes to pain and to shame and to wondering and to crawling
home half naked reeking of cum and weed. yes, make me fuckable.
yes, make me real. yes! yes! i want it! yes! yes! yes!
i said yes.
They made me.
between friends
i still remember the day
(the night/club, actually)
that i first realized
i was worth less
than you.
first understood
that our bodies meant different things
different pasts
different futures.
how the boy who approached you was nervous
skin slick with sweat and desire
how awkward and yet tender you were
as you danced together.
how i smiled, both glad and envious
waiting for my own tender boy
who for some reason could not see me
for some reason never came
my skin too brown perhaps, blended in
with the nightclub shadows
while you stood out, bright as the moon.
you had coffee dates and grindr hook-ups
and melodramatic romance
i gave bathroom blow jobs to older men who
told me how much they liked asians and
complimented my english.
i remember how sad and alone i felt
when i realized that your revolution was different from mine
you fought for the right to love freely
and i fought to be loved at all.
i still remember what it was like
dancing beside you
and waiting to be chosen,
you
sweet and pale as apple flesh
and me
a darker kind
of fruit
queer tr
ibe
what is this queer community that everyone keeps talking about?
i see you there teetering on the edges of dancefloor and consciousness
but gurl, i’ll give you this, you know how to werq that ass.
how gracefully you slip and slide, gliding like a sequined angel
on a roller coaster out of heaven. you shake those hips like you
shook your fists last week at the manif on rue stcatherine. fuck tout
fuck les flics cops are bastards you screamed what would you say
if i told you i called the cops once
when I didn’t know what else to do
to stop a man from raping me? (i called you too, you didn’t
pick up)
last week, the girl who came up from behind and strangled me at a party
got hired to be co-coordinator of biggest “rad” social justice non-profit in town
i told you this and you said i needed to think about the bigger picture before
saying anything. who said anything
about saying anything? i’m as good at keeping secrets as anyone else
in this sceneafter all, the one thing that all of us
A Place Called No Homeland Page 2
