To My Waipo


My heart lies 

In the crowded streets of Shanghai

Squeezed by narrow alleys

Filled with small shops

Selling things from silk scarves

To plastic children’s toys

In a summer heat so humid

I complain to my waipo 

While holding a plastic buzzing fan.


Nowadays, 

Shanghai seems so far away

While I blow my nose in a tissue

Not as soft as the bedsheets 

In waipo’s small condo 

That had no air conditioner

Except for the slight breeze

Coming from an open window,

Embedded in a concrete playground

Reaching towards the sky.


It’s cold here,

And I miss you.


Thank you for reading this article by Angel Liang, our staff writer! Stay tuned for more works by Angel and our other writers in the future and read more about her here.

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