The Death of Long Steam Lady

Nellie Wong

For 20 years Nellie Wong’s small collection of poetry and fiction has survived as an underground classic.  The title piece from this volume is a moving lament for an unknown woman’s death: “And if an obituary appeared in the Chronicle on Long Steam Lady, would they have identified her as a talkative crazy old lady who fed pigeons in the park?  Would they have described her silver sandals?”

“Wong’s reality, sad and beautiful, is the reality of all working people.  Wong captures our Chinatowns, our nightclubs, our restaurants, and in heartbreaking but joyful ways, our families.  Her women and men have great hearts, broad shoulders, and strong yellow legs.”—Merle Woo

Dark woman, I hear you
cough
snatches of air
unaromatic
unlike cigars.
Come here to this room,
this bed
covered with handquilted rags.
Although this room is small,
it is yours,
your eyes
I cannot ignore.
Here on the top floor
in this building
dialects drift from patches
of jade plant, through peanut-oiled halls.
Where do you belong,
if not here?
Your skeletal frame
attracts my rough hands,
seeking relief
in the shapes of clouds.
Never mind the others,
their superstitions
packed in cans
of dried salted fish.
I will burn incense,
bake mooncakes.
Now that you’re here,
you focus on my Chinese evergreen,
illuminating the lesions on my skin.
Will you eat, will you eat
if I feed you rice gruel
through paper straws,
these outstretched hands?
             —“Song from Dark”

5½ x 8½ inches • 67 pages • ISBN 0-931122-42-2 • $5.95