Lazy Susan

matthew chen

Part 1: Fish Eyes Staring Contest Adversary

Around a table, huddled eyes eye the arrival. Steamed fish in wine sauce, presented in the same position it died. Mouth agape, humming sounds only it can hear, with a harmony of chopsticks clicking. Eyes have already devoured the bones, the chopsticks are mining out what’s left. The fish, while frozen, does not mind that it has been hollowed out.

It died two hours ago. In the heat of the kitchen, surrounded by leeks, stored in leaky crates and cloves of garlic littering the floor; a funeral garland.

What is a soul to its corpse. To not only stab, to desecrate. To not only stare, to devour. To not only cook, to incinerate. To feel false satiety from eating the transcendent; Does fish taste better in wine sauce or fried.

Their eyes glaze over as the ritual ends.

Pats on the back for a contest well-finished. Their eyes close for a moment, to rest on what’s been taken. Realize, that the fish has never blinked.

Part 2: Untasty Porkchops Fried in Corn Starch

Chinese tradition tells us the story of love through the butterfly lovers. Unable to be together in mortal form. Died for love and reunited as butterflies. America transforms Chinese tradition into

Porkchops shared over a tiny metal table in a crowded Woodside apartment. Passion can be vectorized toward comfort sharing nothing can be an act of meaning for those who come from nowhere.

Part 3: Lazy Susan

They stand up and scream pleasantries at our faces, Last time I saw you, you were this high!

Complimentary embraces with unknown bodies.

Communal tea is passed around with secrets and whispers. Did you hear how [ ] married [ ] such shame ah! Familiar floral rug, faint oriental flute, and delicate water falling from a dragon, tiger, or whatever poor animal became a statue.

Silence is one’s best weapon and worst target in this wasteland. When you get girlfriend!

The Lazy Susan is aptly named for conversing with unconversables. The fish eyes are a staring contest adversary and undefeated champion. Waitresses are summoned with a sleight of hand, magic trick amongst members.

Bring the dishes, wait no those are our dishes, more tea!

Quotas are easily met with a few lackluster xie xie’s or dui’s but the Lazy Susan is the true challenge. To navigate the circular ring, in a way that satisfies all is impossible without adept fingertips, spinning the glass plate like a record player, playing its own music of gong bao ji ding and hong shao rou. Hot steam swirls in the air to form a dream. Even to lift up the glass and spin it on one’s finger, to keep spinning it because the sauce has flown away anyways, and the paper lanterns hung on the ceiling are really of starlight, not neon gas, to keep spinning kaleidoscope of light projecting its truth onto them.

Even in the fish eyes.