On the night of the fourth of July

we were given a chance to sit and breathe

and listen to the hum of feet scuffing

a dance floor raised about dinner tables and

steaming bowls of this or that smelling

rank to American senses but

inviting to taste, to try, to drink water

when it’s raining; to sit, to sing softly while

drums beat and ladies dance

to the tune of the Tang dynasty

with great arms gently folding around each other

and their own.

Broken tunes of in and out and rolling hills.

Playing foreign stringed instruments

plucking wooden sleeping harps.

A dress-up occasion of silence and

getting hot at the people in front of us who

won’t stop talking.

So difficult to express our anger, as

’shh’ may not be international and

we have not yet learned to say ’shut up’

in Chinese…