The Sunday gentle children laughter and softly padded footsteps and meandering familial groups,
The din of conversation and the transactions of sales and money clinking and distant dancing.
Today the boyish laughter is absorbed in interest, he smiles, eyes delicate and open for experience.
As onlookers gaze at the spectacle of a cultural citizen growing up in New York
(Because here everyone is entertainment), he knows not but the present.
In ten years to come while reaching adulthood and the struggling decision
To perpetuate his parents' and grandparents' culture
Or meld into the American pursuit of high-paying jobs and beautiful red-dressed women,
Will he remember today's Chinese red vest or the golden-sheathed sword
With the eroding fondness of the dying past?
Or will the sound of brothers knocking their dueling plastic blades
Ring with metallic reverberation and will Dad's click of the camera explode into vividness?
Will he share his culture like the warrior he is today in costume and spirit,
Sword, no longer the instrument of death, but endowed with power
To eternalize the life of a culture that has traveled to make new life in a new land?