CHINATOWN

Afterhour of espresso machines, memorabilia dancing in puffs of steamed water,

slowed down by the ceremony. Leaves,

cared for. Longed for. Long beards on bare faces. Generations of hibiscus and rosehip. Two cents each.

Achievements in bricks and pockets. Prepared. Preset. Prevent

the graffiti in the carving of a story that lingers in quiet knits.

“I love you, mum.”

She is a child, smaller, lighter, tiny. My arms hold her.

My memory is hers.

Poem: Chinatown, by Ludovica Mazzucato

Music: Alan Gogoll