“you are not in the tattoo parlors etching yourself on the shoulders of frat boys
your blood is not mixed in the corporate flavor of a chai tea latte
you are not in the Civics drag-racing down Chinatown
or the place I fucking do my laundry…
but instead, you are the life-giving river rippling up the crooked spine of my loving mother,
you are the farmer’s tan skin I rock like pride into the summer,
you are the ambition my father sewed into my body when he raised me so I could provide for my children what my parents never gave me—
asia-america, you’re more than your key words of hair, and skin, and eyes
but you’re the reason I give my life to poetry.
you’re the fire that I speak, this tapestry I’m trying to weave…”
—Alvin Lau, spoken word poet
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