Hear the click clack of the jade and ivory mah jong pieces being swirled and shuffled over the table and the punctuated challenges and curses of the men who play the game. FW

“My great-grandfather he used to own the little laundry place – you know that wedge place - they put all the laundry on the roof and people called it the United Nations.”CM

Some people are different. You can see it. Or hear it. That’s how I grew up On the schoolground What you’re called A painful spike.                   FW

“People coming from far away, East and West Kootenay. “Hey Wong, I don’t have a job.” He say, “Oh yeah. There’s a job up there at Hongs. They’re looking for a houseboy.” There you go - employment for everybody. So – everybody work.” CM

eyeing Foo Let behind the counter,

Coming through the front door of the café,

FW

All smiles, suit, and tie

shaking his hand?

Who is he, this uncle

FW

Not in any café in Trail or Nelson

They deal.

Never seen him before.

then steers him to a booth near the back.

They laugh and talk Chinese as Foo Let grabs a coffee

That’s a story I can tell"

"My great grandfather used to live in the Nationalist House there.

       , every time when they walk by the Free Mason place he spits on that lawn. 

CM

He don’t like this and that."

"Your grandfather he so hated the Free Masons." 

Anyway 

"Every time he walk by he spits on them." 

"He don’t like the communists. EndFragment

I heard from some old timers

now we have our own corner of the cemetery."

So we’re lucky, 

"They didn’t want any Chinese burial in with the Catholics or the Protestants or whatever.

They figured they’d be contaminated, and that’s the way it is.

and other pots burned hot in the charcoal clay stove

fields of rice and water

Slipping underneath that wet, burned rice after dinner

flickering light from the lit dry grass under the same stars

crossed into gut, guttered now the floating gaze and taste burnt right through to the spine.

in his gaze is some long night far away

jumped intestinal interstices, bisected, circulated, tongue's track, 

on the other side of the earth in other eyes

How taste remembers life.

Pacific ocean end of murmured sadness

 He laughs and his eyes glitter, water.

and he smiles gold teeth as he takes his lottery book out of an overcoat pocket and slaps the worn pages on the cafe counter.

He, his eyes sparkle, brown finger with long, slim nail points to the green spot eight-spot

NELSON Some people are different. You can see it. Or hear it. That’s how I grew up On the schoolground What you’re called A painful spike.   I’m just a little Chihuahua against a German shepherd That’s ok. We’re all dogs. Just different size. Were they just a bunch of old men With one lung Or were they gentlemen Waiting, waiting. Late and night From the open 2nd floor window on Lake street Above the canopy of Maple trees Hear the click clack of the jade and ivory mah jong pieces being swirled and shuffled over the table and the punctuated challenges and curses of the men who play the game. He asked me “how come you Chinese are so lucky to have your own cemetery section I said we’re not very lucky, but we became lucky after. They didn’t want any Chinese burial in with the Catholics or the Protestants or whatever; they had to be put into their own corner; they figured they’d be contaminated, and that’s the way it is. So we’re lucky, we have our own corner of the cemetery. Rows of green Chinese characters Printed on a sheaf of cheap pulp paper Bound by a string punched through the spine. Eight spot! Mark 8 characters with a red dot Eyes laughing. Trust me, first born, for luck And I’m a believer. Stars in our eyes. How taste remembers life. Sipping underneath that wet, burned rice after dinner in his gaze is some long night far away on the other side of earth in other eyes and other pots burned hot in the charcoal clay stove flickering light from the lit dry grass under the same stars fields of rice and water Pacific ocean end of murmured sadness jumped intestinal interstices, bisected, circulated, tongue's track, crossed into gut, guttered now the floating gaze and taste burnt right through to the spine. Eat rice sweet With relished meditation He, his eyes sparkle, brown finger with long, slim nail points to the green spot eight-spot and he smiles gold teeth as he takes his lottery book out of an overcoat pocket and slaps the worn pages on the cafe counter. He laughs and his eyes glitter, water. MADE IN CHINA       "I needed a son, so I had to get a wife." Who is he, this uncle All smiles, suit, and tie Coming through the front door of the café, eyeing Foo Let behind the counter, shaking his hand? Never seen him before. Not in any café in Trail or Nelson. They laugh and talk Chinese as Foo Let grabs a coffee then steers him to a booth near the back. They deal. There are papers and money on the table. Foo Let signs something and then licks an envelope. They go into the kitchen loud talking and laughter behind the swinging doors. Can this be the infamous Charley Chim Chong Say Wong Liu Chung He is a China Even over here Full of his own China-ness Minding his own business And busy he is Back and forth Whose center cannot hold the mind Just when he thought he knew his heart The world huffed! It’s a trick Still China after all He turns around Goes back to village Pacific Ocean’s the real boss He’s China to the root The sons are mortgaged To the future’s money Though        Charley’s from Kamloops.       Charley’s going back to China.       But only once.       Charley’s going to get a wife.       Charley’s going to Foo Let’s village       A little money for the family there.       Then Charley buys some jade in Hong Kong.       Charley comes back in a year.       China is so far away.