in this reading, writer nancy om, takes the audience to angel island. >> palm trees faced us when we landed. they were like garred yens to pass the golden gate we told them what wement todd hear. on the island of desperate dreams we shed our skins and wore new ones. burned our parents name and let our pasts curl into smoke. >> no longer my father's daughter. no longer my husband's wife. only the sea gulls know who i really am. for months we were held in separate rooms. the dampness seeped through the bunks and gnawed or bones. at night the wales of ghosts kept us awake. 32 steps to my father's house, 4 windows facing north. 24 steps to my uncle's house, 2 doors facing south. i have 3 sisters, 2 brothers, 4 cousins on my father's side. now i store the memory in a drawer. along with bitter herbs and rhineos ris horns. we dine at restaurants on the better side of town with pink table cloths and real flowers in the vases. we hardly go to china town. >> in a casual way, they had fun with his body. they chained him to the back of the car and did fish tails. forensic evidence suggests his b