how agreeable it is not to be touring Texas this scorching summer,

floating the rivers on tubes and spelunking Natural Bridge Caverns.

how much better to peruse these four walls of my home, the terrazzo foyer, the built-in bookshelves,

fully grasping the meaning of every portrait, every heirloom, every tchotchke

asking the indelible question:

DOES THIS SPARK JOY?

each, a capsule of time

tugging at the thread of memory ---

the string of mummified parasites

falling from its rosewood ossuary

iridescent, each perfectly round

knots, like inflection points separating 

a reminder of the Hongqiao Market

nestled in the heart of Beijing

teeming with ghosts wrangling over pennies

one fighting for luxury

the other pearls of 面包 (mian bao) to sustain a legacy

a legacy to build a home

the photographs in a bifold frame

a diptych of my ancestry

once carried upon my back ----

great grandmother, grandfather, grandmother, mother ----

that they, too might see The Great Wall

ten thousand miles of honor

rock, brick, cement, powdered with dirt

they, who lived humbly as cobbler and sewist

bound to the island

never able to explore

the beauties of their own homeland 

once again I reflect

scanning the reliquary of my own making

DOES THIS SPARK JOY?

and the heart whispers a gratified yes.