OH!... VIETNAM!
The night
has a way
of awakening
the old stories...,
yet no one is here
... or there.
So we tell them to ourselves.
The days
break
like precious clay
upon the floor of today,
...... in memory
of yesterday.
We float the dreams
of ourselves
upon a stormy sea
called 'everyday',
... and a sky filled
with stars
that do not remember themselves
as shining,
at night.
We carry bold scars
of a war.
Flesh of history...... torn
ragged and rough
... known only to women
who touch us
... within the silence
of our nights.
Our lives have disappeared
into night dreams,
and sudden screams,
of memory lost
within the new day
that sleeps alone,
somewhere.
Wide eyed
as a child
crying!
Everything remains,
as we cry aloud
and are born to ourselves
again.
Oh! Vietnam!