[Invocative / Apostrophic]
To you, mind you. Always,
Even if not
Or not facially.
Your language your leash,
My face my pedigree
And you know I know
My face. To a fault.
To the ninth degree.
Whatever I write is
Vietnamese. I can never not —
You won’t let me not —
Lick the leash or bite it.
Even at the end
Of my brain and yours . . .
(Said transplanted lawns,
Outwash plains sans life)
I am this face.
No more. Whereas
You are the living palm,
The wind, the phoenix song,
The house in my head
I name home.
Though where I’m really from
The dead bird stays dead.
______________________
This poem forms part of a longer sequence called 36 Ways of Writing a Vietnamese Poem. It first appeared in American Poetry Review in March/April 2023.
