I walk through Dragon’s Gate past
Tourist shops with girlish things,
Turquoise satin pouches, crimson key chains,
Unicorn lunch boxes, glow in the dark yo-yos.
Party favors from a brighter decade.
Before I misplaced my calendars,
Before I forgot about wars and murders,
Crowds jostled here for hanging ducks.
All’s disappeared like a mad conjurer’s trick.
Yet my favored bakery survived the year.
A stooped woman, tiny as my grandmother,
Smiles the smile of sad women. She knows
I used to come here as two.
Our hands touch, but not long enough.
She sells me a bagful of fortune cookies.
I wish I could tell her
I come upon pleated strips
In drawers, in the hollows of old purses,
I store my paper fortunes
To see the word happy,
To see the word tomorrow.
