If my ancestors could see me now
I think they’d be ashamed to know
How distant their descendants have drifted
From the beauty of culture and tradition

I can imagine the horrific expressions contorted
At my incorrect chopstick form
And the sadness in their eyes when they see
The tags still on my kimono and qipao

They’d be surprised to learn
I haven’t been to the mother country
And much to their chagrin,
Been taught to speak the mother tongue

I don’t share their love of spice
And I’ve American-ized their food
With California rolls and takeout orange chicken
And takeout orange chicken