*Honorable mention for poetry in the 2nd Annual Arizona
Writer's Conference.
Mongkok
Street is congested
as
a head cold you get when the seasons change,
the
kind that makes it difficult to breathe or talk.
I
am the only blonde,
and
the only English speaker swimming in a sea
of
limbs and honking horns.
It’s
overly crowded.
Like
that-guy-just-nearly-spit-on-my-shoe crowded, there’s no-
where-to-stand-so-keep-moving
crowded, and let’s-build-shops-on-top-of-shops,buildings-on
top-of-buildings-because-there’s-no-where-else-to-build
crowded.
I’m
the only one standing on the street corner,
rereading
the name Mongkok
on
the sign above me,
confirming
the one written on the smudged piece of paper shaking in my hands.
I
don’t see a hotel.
My
right hand clings to the handle of my red rolly,
Like
pollution clings to the buildings.
People
push past,
Rocking
its body on its wheels.
Garbled
words float in and out of my ears,
None
of them directed to me.
My
hair and shirt are sweat-wet.
I
desperately want a shower, especially after the long van ride here.
The
sun will probably disappear behind the sky
scrapers
to be replaced with neon lights, soon.
I
circle on my heels and gaze up for hotel names
until
my eyes squint from too much sun.
I
smell fish, grease and B.O.
I
see people selling and buying panda-
bear
key chains, brightly colored purses and hats, I-love-Hong-Kong-t-shirts,
red
and gold jewelry and flip flops under gigantic Chinese lettered billboards.
A
man in a business suit, talking on his cell phone, nudges
his
way through and waves for a taxi.
Two
skinny men smoking cigarettes scan me up
and
down. They laugh and push each other into the Circle K.
I
don’t want to be on Mongkok Street when it’s dark. Mom
and
other family are worried about me being in China as it is.
This
isn’t my first adventure away from home, and I’m excited, but it’s certainly
the farthest
I’ve
been. Maybe there is reason for some worry, especially
if
I don’t find this hotel and have to
sleep
on my suitcase next to the Mongkok Street sign.
I
shift weight from one
foot
to the other. I tighten my yellow
backpack
with a quick yank.
My
blue eyes search for another like them.
My
ears strain for English.
I
stare at the Mongkok sign,
inhale,
and then start to wiggle my way
into
the crowd to find answers at the Rolex shop.
Kassie
Lamoreaux teaches English as a Second Language at Mesa Community College where
she helps diverse students write academic paragraphs and essays. She’s
currently studying creative writing at Mesa Community College. Kassie loves
traveling, eating food, and playing the drums.
