The day I learned to speak my grandmother’s tongue
An Eastern wind shifted the earth
While the western walls were whisked away…
And the mountains of Laos rose on the horizon,
Roaring with the sound of river dragons
Splashing rainbow tail waves
Across oceans of opium poppies
Just awakened from their slumber
By the baby chick with no feathers
Hiding under the house board floor
Waiting to teach the next generation
That to live, means to save the most vulnerable.
The day I learned to speak my grandmother’s tongue
I tied my own tongue upon the eight tones
Of the Hmong language
Stumbling upon words like a baby, like it should be
Restoring back the balance between the ages
As I freed my grandmother’s voice
To rise clearly, to rise wisely
Mighty like the elders’ powers should be.
And my fears faded away, like the black spots on her skin
Revealed for their true glory, as battle scars
From a life lived completely
And I found the ultimate truth
That I will not escape my nature
That I am a rock from the old mountain
A strong Hmong woman
Carved from another strong Hmong woman
Saturday, June 7, 2008
River Lines, Pacyinz Lyfoung, 2001
River Lines, Pacyinz Lyfoung, 2001
There are lines are that drawn
Dividing one side and another
Different pages…
Different boundaries…
Different ideologies…
Although, except for the line
Right could be left
Up could be down
Depending on where is one’s ground
There are rivers that rise
Creating different banks…
Different shores…
Different landings…
Although, except for the river
The trees still look the same
On either side…
And that country
That would have been my country
Is now the foreign shore
Upon which my footsteps
Can never land
There are events that turn
Children into grown-ups
Friends into foes
Lovers into strangers
Farmers into soldiers
Natives into aliens
Refugees into Americans
Although, who we used to be
Is not too far from
Who we still are
There are lines are that drawn
Dividing one side and another
Different pages…
Different boundaries…
Different ideologies…
Although, except for the line
Right could be left
Up could be down
Depending on where is one’s ground
There are rivers that rise
Creating different banks…
Different shores…
Different landings…
Although, except for the river
The trees still look the same
On either side…
And that country
That would have been my country
Is now the foreign shore
Upon which my footsteps
Can never land
There are events that turn
Children into grown-ups
Friends into foes
Lovers into strangers
Farmers into soldiers
Natives into aliens
Refugees into Americans
Although, who we used to be
Is not too far from
Who we still are
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