Truong Tran

it has long been forgotten this practice of the mother weaning a child she crushes the seeds of a green chili rubs it to her nipple what the child feels she too will   share in this act   of love my own mother says it was not meant to be cruel when cruelty she tells me is a child’s lips   torn from breast as proof back home the women wear teeth marks

my father’s body is a map a record of his journey he carries a bullet lodged in his left thigh there is a hollow where it entered a protruding bump where it sleeps the doctors say it will never awaken it is the one souvenir he insists on keeping mother has her own opinions bốcùa con điên—your father is crazy as a child i wanted a scar just like my father’s bold and appalling     a mushroom explosion that said i too was at war instead i settled for a grain of rice a scar so small look closely there here between the eyes a bit to the right there on the bridge of my nose father says i was too young to remember it happened while i was sleeping leaking roof the pounding rain drop after drop after drop

known for her cooking the consistent perfection of spring rolls evenly fried her secret to brush it with just a hint of apple juice to add some color give some flavor she is the mother of five a wife a widow it is easy to forget her strength in its subtlety she keeps it hidden like the smell of apple juice that reminds me of my family the eighteen days we spent on a tanker the sticky metal floors streaked with the vomit of children crying a pearl a day she removed from a string milky white marbles on an army issued blanket a make-shift playground that kept what was ours i would have to be good no crying no complaining it was mine to keep it was mine to lose being thirsty that i remember drinking juice from a can tomato apple a concoction of both my mother traded her red jade bracelet for a jar of water the kind you drank if you had money to buy if you spoke korean the kind that was plain without the taste of salt she said uống từ từ—drink it slowly i was given a third of this precious water the rest she saved     hid in a suitcase