After the Dujinsheng Silk Factory Zhejiang Province

Balliro 41 Lenore Balliro After the Dujinsheng Silk Factory Zhejiang Province 1. When I hear the jacquard looms weaving threads into brocade my headaches come back from another country. Now I understand. This is where you worked, bulbs hanging low, brushing their small light against fibers, colors so sure in the silk you'd remember your pallette and crave the range of reds under your fingertips. In hay shoes and cotton pants you watched the bolts appear— folding and slipping and shining in the dull light. The translator tells us: The machines work 24 hours. The workers do not. There are 7 holidays. The workweek is 6 days. For four years your brushes dried out, canvases turned the other way. 2. I watch the straight back of a woman punching a pattern onto cards. Now the computer reads them: Tigers. Fish. Pagodas. When she turns her face it is not you. Neither is any other face here 42 the minnesota review one I expect, turning any corner, brushing against an arm by mistake. In the factory store the Wei Guo Ren buy everything. 3. Today at market your mother says: "Not fresh" so I don't buy the beans. Eggplant are already out of season. I listen. We buy ban jin greens, yi jin noodles, wait in line for the good eggs. I wear the rubber boots you left before you went to America, and before she leaves for America, your mother buys you a silk coat, many yuan. I try it on. It suits you. Will she like this? Your mother asks, stroking the lining, seeing you across two years on another country's coast. She has saved her salary for one year and waits for the ticket from Shanghai. 4. On my wall in Hangzhou an invitation from Providence, 1984. "Tong Wang: A Chinese Woman's Paintings. Providence-Hang-Chow.'' Here is my late letter to you. I paint one thing only, over and over. Three or one or several mandarin oranges, which are green and appear to be limes. The strokes are quick and they are scraps that litter my crimson rug they are all the West Lake boats in the rain the rain keeps coming. My students want and want. And I want more Balliro 43 5. When your mother gets to Providence Slip on the jacket. Raise one arm to your cheek. ...