Notes on a culture, part one

(mother, father) (land)

the cruel sun beats down on my back

and there is only shade 

under the pagoda like structures

temples that connect old and new

led light systems hanging over cracked stone floors

I take the train into the city

a glossy film has been wrapped around my eyes

as people push, shove, shout

I recognize sounds, smells, sights

-- distant from photos that stay tucked in the corner of my father's wallet

life bursts out in every street corner

every room, restaurant, club

a microcosm

of a life I do not know, but could have, might have

I walk silently

pretending to belong

-- in faces that look mirrored