Shopping

  

SHOPPING

 To my mother

 

The time to purchase fresh clothes is before winter begins.

We ride a limousine sitting as if on a sofa inside an air conditioned vault.

Our destination is a department store with imported goods from China.

Stepping outside the car, we are greeted by the sea salt breeze of Hong Kong harbor and steamy gusts from roasting chestnuts.

Inside the store waft the pungent aromas of strange brown herbs and dried fruits.

We inspect the rows of sweaters tossed into piles, shirts neatly pressed inside sealed plastic,

Hanging lines of sweetly scented leather belts, and immaculate underwear shining like the moon.

Surly Cantonese salesladies step forward to help you only if they are asked.

Tugging out a sweater from a pile, you say, “This one will fit you.”

Measuring it across my shoulders, “You like it?”

Yes, I like it, this roll of thick fragrant wool dyed with mountains and valleys.

Swinging it inside the crisp folds of a shiny red plastic bag, I carry it home.

Inside my bedroom, I hold it balled up to my nose.

Burrowing inside my blanket, I dream of a verdant garden path chilled by mountaintop winds.

 

 

 

Star Ferry, Hong Kong