Clarity:

recalling memories from guangzhou

sweet tangy humid air, the hustle and bustle of a too wide street and bicyclists with straw baskets strapped to their backs fight with beetle cars 

a time when sitting with mah mah on the back of her own bike felt secure

at night time the cicadas chirp outside my closed window and i'm thankful that i got the one of two rooms with a ac system 

but we still have to use straw fans outside; sweat trickling down our necks 

mah mah made fresh squeezed orange juice with her juicer. her favorite tool

i watched her sometimes 

cutting the orange in half, pushing it on mercilessly, twisting, grinding, pulp

it tasted good though.

and she did the same thing with my brain

carved it out. ate it. spat it out. 

so all my china poems have to be melancholy 

fill my brokenness with molten gold until the cycle of love and hate destroys me

dripping down my chin like the orange juice