"Name, country of birth, place of birth, date of birth, sex, marital status, ...," the Immigration Officer fires out question after question, trying to define the borders of my lifescape. He wants to confine me to a statistically recognizable category: immigrant.
after one stopover
and twenty hours of flying
in Toronto streets
I walk with newly ascribed roles:
immigrant and "Chinese"
in hazy moonlight
I gauge how much of myself
to allot
to this new-house and that once-home,
two places an ocean apart
