I’ve been trying to see color
where there is only monochrome.
I am weary by this photo.
But I have only it, for reconciliation
between my imagination and my history.
A panicked helicopter above
22 Gia Long Street,
and
an American trying to help.
But with just one arm extended
for a hundred desperate eyes,
I wonder what came next?
Time ages the generations.
Ours is kept at distance
from the story
of what happened.
Think of all that sorrow:
Our fathers’ and mothers’ words
still buried memories
waiting for their first breath.
Is that all that’s left?
I’m clutching for what to say,
if only I could ask:
Mom, Dad,
where were you that day?
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