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Superstitious Asians photo

if it were untrue, I might have been
less mad; I am the best of drivers

tiger mother, paper tiger, full
of slant, piss and vinegar

that occasion of our first big fight,
he connoted with a touch too much

self-assurance, tossing out judgment
like a pair of wooden half moons

clamoring across a temple floor, divining
the silence of a question that no one ever

asked, friends and professionals lack
sound counsel because bias, no clues

to be found stuffed inside the metal
drawers of a Taoist shrine or

the images embedded within
a card drawn from the Ryder deck

just another kind of knowledge

to be cultivated “out there,”
a feeling akin at times, to haunting;

I have looked upon my shadow,
argued with the ancestors,

peeling back the edges of my own heart
to show them and me both what’s inside


image: Dorothy Chan