Michelle, Vong

for my gia đình / 家庭

i am a water buffalo farmer,

a cantonese seamstress,

a dark-haired girl who

chases dogs and sisters

through grass fields

before chasing after

airplanes to america,

a starry-eyed boy

whose teenage years

were filled with

english tutors and bruce lee,

all at once.

once i was seeking refuge on a

wooden boat, floating aimlessly

towards a country relentless

and unkind to people like me,

aimlessly like my brother’s toy ship

lost along the san francisco waters.

once i was a young woman

walking a treacherous journey,

through soil and muddy water,

dirtying a white ao dai just

so she could learn how to read pages:

the same color as her stained uniform.

once i was a single mother

in a cramped apartment,

pricking and nicking her fingers,

bloodying her thumbs with needles

to sew dresses of the same shade of crimson.

once i was a grayed father,

palms callused from years of pulling at green.

a peeling straw hat adorned my head like a crown,

shielding me from a persistent sun and burden,

to feed six mouths.

now i have taken form of a adolescent school girl,

my fingers and palms know no labor,

my clothes only ever stained by paint,

my body knows no country but this one,

but i proudly carry the lives of those

who have come before me.

i never forget home or where i come from,

a crowded apartment in hong kong or

a wooden shanty in vietnam or

a blue two story house sitting on the east of oakland,

because i know i am home no matter where i go

because my blood carries where i come from.