‘Golden’: New Poetry by Catherine Lewis

A few times a year, like at Chinese New Year,
by our suburban kitchen table’s temporary altar of incense, by the trays
of oranges and lucky candies cobbled together the night before,

or like on my birthday — okay, definitely on my birthday —
or always at Christmas, under our tinselled-up tree
with the paper decorations I made in my Scarborough kindergarten class:

Red envelopes arrive for my sister and me
on each of these occasions, with fresh banknotes
from each Grandma, from each married aunt or uncle.
A matched pair unfailingly shows up from Mom and Dad.

These envelopes are sometimes preprinted with wishes for prosperity,
in a language our parents have to translate for us all our lives.

In recent years, Mom’s and Dad’s arrive
bearing only their surname emblazoned in gold.

One single Chinese character
preprinted in crisp shiny thick golden text.
Sharp contrast from heavy red paper
that’s sometimes shiny, sometimes matte.
Sometimes bearing a different font from the last.

When I ask Mom whether she got them custom-made,
I already know the answer.
I just know.