The distance turns two years
surreal. The Vietnamese has
dissolved from my tongue. The dictionary
proves friendlier than memory.

These things interrupt my interruptions.

In that other life, I prayed over you,
my only thoughts, salvation,
your suffering, my tears,
your frustration, my sleepless night,
your answer, my redemption.

The foreign words arrive from some grave.
You tell me you are baptized,
a husband, a wife,
you thank me for your eternity,
you ask the familiar questions -
"When I die, will you do my work for me?"
"Where has my child gone?"

Now, the cry emanates from the distance,
in the distance, in the memory, into the
now; it is you who tell me
who I am.