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2024 Academy of American Poets Prize

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Ông's Hammock

by Trung Phi

 

                                    sway, sway under the sun, asleep                               beloved, aglow                                                             humidity etched on our skin                                                                       like trunk veins, the hammock riddled with bullet holes                                                   what happens to dreams when they become real?           my dear, my Ông                     whispering: when I was stationed, I had this hammock in my knapsack. midday, when we slumber to escape the heat, I would hang it under the grove by the river. instead of sleeping, I would write your Bà a poem, a short one, and send it down the stream, towards nowhere.                                                   what happens to nightmares when we wake?           Ông ơi,                     in your knapsack, you also had a deck of cards                     with your comrades, you played Tiến                     which means forward                     I want to ask,                     is this how you learned to live?                     making things move so we can forget                     death is stillness?                     pushing that origami boat down the river,                     that hammock from side to side?                               sway, sway                               forward, forward                               nowhere, everywhere don’t wake yet           I am folding you a lullaby

 



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