In this my 18th incarnation, I
am reed thin, wedging
cotton between the sun-
burned toes of a college
girl just out of flip flops
or painting a fuchsia
lacquer on the nails of
a sallow woman
with blue burning
eyes : Laos
is far away but if you dare
ask me about the scar across
my face I would remember
my father, would remember
Laos, burning my lips
on the lychee each season
a machete to the trees, my mother
pointing at the entry to
tunnels oranged where
my father, my uncle, my grand-
father died. I smile at you
taste a small Clementine
at night, light the joss stick
my scar winking; lychee memory
lychee green, then red, white
at its center like the crescent
that hacked me / split
the lychee rind / split my
inchoate Mekong
Delta in two.
am reed thin, wedging
cotton between the sun-
burned toes of a college
girl just out of flip flops
or painting a fuchsia
lacquer on the nails of
a sallow woman
with blue burning
eyes : Laos
is far away but if you dare
ask me about the scar across
my face I would remember
my father, would remember
Laos, burning my lips
on the lychee each season
a machete to the trees, my mother
pointing at the entry to
tunnels oranged where
my father, my uncle, my grand-
father died. I smile at you
taste a small Clementine
at night, light the joss stick
my scar winking; lychee memory
lychee green, then red, white
at its center like the crescent
that hacked me / split
the lychee rind / split my
inchoate Mekong
Delta in two.