We pull up to three tables ready to learn
Mah Jong from a patient teacher.  Ten white women,
my husband and I put our hands on 166 tiles–
slide them around the center of the table–0
mix bams, cracks, flowers and more.  Position
a rack and the pusher.  So many terms to process,
sleepy parts of my brain iagnited.
I hope inherited skill will kick in from all those nights
I heard the music of tiles colliding, pushed by Daddy
and friends after restaurant hours
You first build a wall, we’re instructed
with clicks and clacks.

My hands assemble a strong wall,
touch a legacy and the music of a game.