They weave around like Khmer silks
the kind behind lettered glass
Uncle sells warm sesame balls
Faai di, quickly, he urges
Suddenly mole-like under his coat
at the sight of the Parisian police
The main staircase smells of rat-piss
Cousin holds his nose, laughing hard
“Last one to touch that old lion statue
has to buy an ugly bracelet!”
We collapse amidst quizzical eyes
I reach for my mother’s familiar hand
I scowl at salted bream, cigarettes,
drunken men, overripe durians
Adding my gum to the pavement
like the older-sisters I wish to be
Auntie shows off her many bracelets
and Grandmother cries out, mou aa, mou aa