Any one have a copy of the poem ” Folding won tons in” By Abraham Chang?

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Akeem Kemmer MD · Accepted Answer

"Folding Won Tons In"Abraham "Abe" ChangI’ve seasoned the pork like I imagineMy mother would—sesame oil, ginger,pepper, scallions choppedimperfectly.Sheets of doughy skin,I only havethe skill to buy.Thumb and forefinger peeleach tender white scrapof noodle from the clingingstack. I pat the centerspink—spoonfulsof fragrant moistness.Mimicking from memory:A twist, a tuck, a folding over—a finger lick of waterto seal my misshapen flowers.My hands powderdusted;acquainted with eachnew blossom. I line them uplike newborns huddledtogether, waiting to be fedto their distant fathers.The soup bubbles to overflowing:I slide the dumplings in and stirthem dizzy. Freshly drowned,swollen and glistening, steam hiddenfor an instant—I set themon the tableand decide how manyI will savefor tomorrow.Here's the poem (with graphics) at Columbia University's site: http://www.columbia.edu/cu/aj/archives/ajspring99/...

Akeem Kemmer MD · Answer

They are different for every book.I’ve seasoned the pork like I imagine my mother would—sesame oil, ginger, pepper, scallions chopped imperfectly. Sheets of doughy skin, I only have the skill to buy. Thumb and forefinger peel each tender white scrap of noodlefrom the clinging stack. I pat the centers pinkwith fragrant spoonfuls the color of the fat sun in OctoberMimicking from memory: A twist, a tuck, a folding over— a finger lick of water to seal my misshapen flowers. My hands powderdusted; acquainted with each new blossom. I line them up like newborns huddled together, waiting to be fed to their distant fathers. The soup bubbles to overflowing: I slide the dumplings inand stir them in their dizzy descent. Drowned, swollen,and glistening, steam hidden for an instant— I set them on the table and decide how many I will save for one more day.

Akeem Kemmer MD · Answer

they are magnificent for each and each handbook. I’ve professional the pork like i assume my mom could desire to— sesame oil, ginger, pepper, scallions chopped imperfectly. Sheets of doughy epidermis, I terrific have the expertise to keep for. Thumb and forefinger peel each and every mushy white scrap of noodle from the clinging stack. I pat the centers pink with fragrant spoonfuls the colour of the fat image voltaic in October Mimicking from memory: A twist, a tuck, a folding over— a finger lick of water to seal my misshapen plant existence. My arms powderdusted; acquainted with each and every new blossom. I line them up like newborns huddled at the same time, waiting to be fed to their a techniques-off fathers. The soup bubbles to overflowing: I slide the dumplings in and stir them of their dizzy descent. Drowned, swollen, and glistening, steam hidden for an instantaneous— I set them on the table and decide on how many i'm going to keep for one greater day.

Karelle Stoltenberg

Any one have a copy of the poem ” Folding won tons in” By Abraham Chang?

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