words appeared as the soft purring of a cat, crow screeching, 

end of a hymn, cicadas in treesspilling in the white 

noise of my headDa Nang Mekong Saigon Nam.

I walked suburban streets to school, hi-fi blasting Somebody To Love

coach meting out orders, my playbook of fakes and jives, 

my head swelling in the helmet. Over sweet cocktails with my beloved 

under the yellowing gingkoes of 64th off Lex, for a moment I felt 

grown up and then the air in my head was orange chemical Dow 

and DuPont, the juke box blasting Light My Fireand where were we?

staring at the image: pistol to the head, a boy I once knew 

on the white-lined field was bagged

and flown back in the dioxin haze of morning.

In the mangrove of my head chopping sounds 

under the covers, rice pattiesfloating mirrors with unidentified

objects. There were Catholics in Saigon and Catholics on my street,  

what about Laos? what about Cambodia? 

American questions spilling in sunlight on white 

shutters, and I’m home on plush carpet waiting for a number.

Copyright © 2020 by Peter Balakian. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 17, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.