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They’re heading to he says, where the rich go to flee Vietnam on cruise ships. I’m glad we’ve become poor so we can stay.
From now on Fridays will be for happy news. No one has anything to say.
A pilot for South Vietnam bombed the presidential palace downtown that afternoon. Afterward the pilot flew north and received a medal.
One cannot justify war unless each side flaunts its own blind conviction.
looking pretty and writing poetry were her only duties.
H Chí Minh.
I love her more for her scars.
The first hot bite of freshly cooked rice, plump and nutty, makes me imagine the taste of ripe papaya although one has nothing to do with the other.
We must consider the shame of abandoning our own country and begging toward the unknown where we will all begin again at the lowest level on the social scale.
Mother smoothes back my hair, knowing the pain of a girl who loves snacks but is stranded on a ship.
People share when they know they have escaped hunger. Shouldn’t people share because there is hunger?
Then by chance Mother learns sponsors prefer those whose applications say “Christians.” Just like that Mother amends our faith, saying all beliefs are pretty much the same.
English Above All
Whoever invented English must have loved snakes.
Clean, quiet loneliness.
Our cowboy in an even taller hat finds us a house on Princess Anne Road, pays rent ahead three months. Mother could not believe his generosity until Brother Quang says the American government gives sponsors money. Mother is even more amazed by the generosity of the American government until Brother Quang says it’s to ease the guilt of losing the war. Mother’s face crinkles like paper on fire. She tells Brother Quang to clamp shut his mouth.
People living on others’ goodwill cannot afford political opinions.
What I don’t love: pink sofas, green chairs, plastic cover on a table, stained mattresses, old clothes, unmatched dishes.
Even at our poorest we always had beautiful furniture and matching dishes. Mother says be grateful. I’m trying.
Would be simpler if English and life were logical.
I repeat, Hà, and wish I knew enough English to tell her to listen for the diacritical mark, this one directing the tone downward.
On one side of the bright, noisy room, light skin. Other side, dark skin.
Mostly I wish I were still smart.
Our cowboy says our neighbors would be more like neighbors if we agree to something at the Del Ray Southern Baptist Church.
Whoever invented English should have learned to spell.
At sunrise he throws newspapers onto porches. After school he flips perfect circles of beef. At sunset he teaches Bruce Lee moves in our front yard.
No one would believe me but at times I would choose wartime in Saigon over peacetime in Alabama.
Mother strokes my head. Chant, my child, Breathe in, peaceful mind. Breathe out, peaceful smile. She strokes my back. Chant, my daughter; your whispers will bloom and shelter you from words you need not hear.
I hate being told I can’t do something because I’m a girl!
My child, how you shoulder the world!
Oh, my daughter, at times you have to fight, but preferably not with your fists.
Ours is a silent Christmas Eve.
At least we no longer live in waiting.
