The karsts of Kampong
Trach Mountain have been
mined to oblivion for postwar
construction, endangering archival
terrain, false cactuses and animal spirits.
Your parents fled over mountains.
We are complicit in your dust and pain.
While you hold losses like
glimmering promises,
I meet you in your new
home so far from home.
Khmer parents in Philadelphia say,
You are bad children.
You don’t know how good you have it.
And the kids
(eating chicken nuggets)
respond, Oh yeah,
Khmer Rouge, whatever.
Five girls ask for flower-girl-status,
Ellen and Paul sittin’ in a tree, they say.
It’ll be just like the wedding on Full House.
She’s on the barefoot
and pregnant track,
her teacher says.
HE IS SO WRONG.
She says, I wore thrift store crazy
colors. The other kids say,
How come you never match?
We are not fiction, we say.
We are real blood, breath, bones.
These cliffs, those cliffs
are not our homes.