The Street

I wrote this about the street in front of where I lived for 6 years in the city of Xining, China.  It is the road that passes by the university where I studied Chinese.  It was where I would buy groceries, where I ate meals, and where I played with my children in an foreign land.

-The street-

The street shifts with the times; shiny red lights, power lines heavy under thick dust, and the feet that tilt it back and forth. 

Clothing styles come and go and come again.  Teenagers suck down cigarettes.  College students pop their collars.  Girls climb to the top of high heels and totter.

There is a strange scene of status; the latest fashion in street sweeping attire.  Feet shift and shake on heels as her arms grow embarrassingly firm.

Children play, in the gutters and in the trash.  A blessed imagination takes them through the dirt, the dust and the day into some sort of wonderland.

Steam soaks out of an open piece of glass.  The damp humidity chokes, the flavors provoke.

A frying cart; soaking in oil and down the throat.  Slam some more salt on that lettuce, please.  Press it in there.

The tea shop, where they drink beer.  The memories made on the street.

The grass is where they grew up, but the times have changed.  A cement square here, a water feature there.  Yet there it is!  A time and a place for feet; on the street.