A good prose poem from todays Writers Almanac: Chinese Restaurant by David Shumate After an argument, my family always dined at the Chinese restaurant. Something about the Orient washed the bitterness away. Like a riverbank where you rest for awhile. The owner bowed as we entered. The face of one who had seen too much. A revolution. The torture of loved ones. Horrors he would never reveal. His wife ushered us to our table. Her steps smaller than ours. The younger daughter brought us tea. The older one took our orders in perfect English. Each year her beauty was more delicate than before. Sometimes we were the only customers and they smiled from afar as we ate duck and shrimp with our chopsticks. After dinner we sat in the comfort of their silence. My brother told a joke. My mother folded a napkin into the shape of a bird. My sister broke open our cookies and read our fortunes aloud. As we left, my father always shook the old mans hand. Chinese Restaurant by David Shumate, from The Floating Bridge. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 2008.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Mar 2014 12:16:59 +0000
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