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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 1, March 2018

Nu Quang
Seattle, Washington, USA

Waves Washing the Sands

continents apart
Vietnam's Doi Moi lets us
talk again
through pauses and silence
we try to patch the old quilt

My sister's voice sounds like an old woman's.

"Has the English language popular in wartime made a comeback?" I ask her after listening to her lengthy account of all the changes in Cholon since my departure. I hear silence. Then I continue, "I've earned a college degree. Now I'm a writer." Again, I don't hear her reply. I know why: it was the foreign language our mother didn't let her learn.

her slice of pineapple
from the same fruit
tastes sourer than mine–
our mother saw in me
her dream fulfilled

We both have aged. Her voice has revealed it. Mine? According to her, it hasn't changed. But my hair and face have.

we see specialists
for individual pain . . .
let me pray
we live to see the full moon
together again

Author's Note: The title is a Chinese ci-poem title. Doi Moi means "New Age."



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