I pulled stars down from the soft black sky and crushed them hard in my hands to a gold-white powder. A mixture then with caught rainwater, a fingertip of honey and a tear. Then a syringe and slammed into my veins.
Love in her eyes
Linh stood straight, face forward, and stared at the flag. The golden star sparkled, reflected in her dark eyes. She was beautiful. I tried to keep her face in my gaze but the Colonel was watching us. My eyes could not flicker or shift from the flag. I loved her but she loved the party, she loved the flag, she loved our country. I had tried to find the words but she was not ready for love with a person, or a person like me. I could not compete with her love for a people, for a country under attack.
Years later I heard that after leaving the camp she had crossed the border with a team of comrades. They caused the enemy such great losses that the invaders sent in the fire bombers. I heard that Linh was caught out in the open, away from the tunnels, and her body was never found.
Now I sit drinking iced coffee in a café in a city in my country, in a country at peace, in a country where the invaders were thrown out when I was still young. Now I sit here in a café in a street named after Linh, my Linh, though she was never mine, and I think of the young girl with the stars in her eyes, with the love of her people in her eyes.
Published on http://visualverse.org/submissions/love-in-her-eyes/
You used to bring me rockets
“Waving sparklers in the rain – it was all a bit half-hearted, wasn’t it?”
“I enjoyed it. And the rockets were pretty.”
“I suppose so, but they didn’t take us anywhere did they? They didn’t even go anywhere except into the sky.”
“I’d like to go up into the sky. Think how exciting it would be. Flash! Bang!”
“And then you’d fall back to ground, unseen, uncared for, and that would be that.”
“But at least you would have been there, you’d have been colour for a minute. No matter what happened later. One minute would be enough.”
“You’ve changed.”
“You used to bring me rockets.”
Early alarm
Early alarm.
Early train.
Trees edge their upmost branches above the drowning fog.
Arrived early.
Building closed.
Found 50p piece though.
Face your fears
Face your fears. I’m scared of the dark. Face your fears. I’m terrified of the dark. Face your fears they said so I’ll walk into the darkness. I’m terrified but I’ll walk into the darkness. The ground is cold and wet beneath my feet, I’m so scared but I have to face my fears. It’s all in my head, the cold the wet beneath my feet, the sound of breathing or is it the wind. I don’t know if it’s worse when my eyes are closed. I’m so scared of the dark. I don’t know if my eyes are open. I’m so scared of the dark. I know there’s something there, I can feel it inside me but I have to keep on walking, through the cold and the wet and the sound of the breathing and the sound of the screams in the distance. I have to face my fears. The dark can’t hurt me. Face my fears. The dark can’t hurt me. Face my fears. The dark can’t hurt me.
In the fall I fell for you
In the fall I fell for you.
In the fall you caught me.
In the fall I fell for you.
In my fall you caught me, you taught me, you held me, you plastered wounds I had thought incurable.
In the fall I fell for you.
I will never fall again.
Four Words To Live By (I’ve been told)
The serenity of the egret in the rice field as the water buffalo lumber by. The serenity of the buffalo as they wander, slow avalanche slow, across the road. Traffic slows and stops, drivers, riders hypnotised by the swaying flanks and horns.
He rests one foot on the ground, the other on a pedal, and smiles. The ballet of traffic has taken an animal turn. As soon as the buffalo pass, scooters will speed past his swoops and wobbles but the smile will remain with him.
Back from the sea, salt and sand is spa-showered away along with the sweat of the ride. The sound of the frogs fills the room as the mosquito net drifts in the breeze from the charred bamboo fan. Later, as thoughts and feelings fuse together like smoke, he will fall asleep to sensual whispers of rain.
He did not believe in the sublime except for two moments. That saffron moment on a night flight when a monk walked by, bowed head and a gentle smile at the edge of his pool of reading light. Later a nun tied threads round his wrist and the dam holding the tears back crumbled.
Even later he thought back to his experiences. He saw his green reflection in the lotus pond and it was then that his life was decided.
The Citadel, Hue
A woman scrubbed clothes in the grey water in the wheelbarrow. A man crouched on his heels and watched her. He flicked away his cigarette butt and it landed in the barrow. To the two tourists, the tone the woman used sounded venomous.
They hurried through the first door they came to along the cloister. People slept in hammocks in the humid twilight. The tourists stopped suddenly and backed out of the room. Perhaps the people in the hammocks were looking at them.
The rest of their group were standing in the shade of the courtyard wall while their guide recited facts they did not appear to be taking in. Only the slight man with the wispy beard and the conical hat, always him, seemed to be listening, and asked questions.
Again he said “In my youth I marched with the students in Paris. We were for you.” Again the guide said “My grandmother was young when she lost all her family.”
On the far side of the courtyard someone said two dollars was too much. His friend had told him not to pay more than one dollar fifty.
The woman finished the washing and hung it dripping on the scaffolding. As the two tourists hurried towards their group, they wondered how it would ever dry.
(When I was) Young [Vietnam]
(When I was) young
clear imagination
flowed
(like a) spring stream
(through the)
holy green spring mountain meadows
thoughts (became) words
sparkling like fresh water
cool (on) your tongue
(In the) mid years
work (and) service (and) books
Thought River
slowed
(and)
swept lazy curves
stories strong
(and) details full
volume (depended on) season
Now
I (am) old
like you (my) reader
(are) you old(?)
River (of) Song
(is) silt
now
I plumb mud
(with) my fingers
sometimes (a) nugget
(like) this
Hoi An 151117
Silver tongue
They said he had a silver tongue, but his golden words were honey for her heartache. The sweet balm took the burn away and this once, just this once, the words did not fade with time but lived on in truth and in the actions he delivered.
simonsalento 