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Huynh  Duc  Tranh



Little hands.  Limp fingers.

Fair child, lying here so still;

your skin looks like doublecream kafee.

Half-in, half-out of the hootch doorway,

so peaceful, half-on your lips, a smile.



Once lithe, now too, too quiet.

Perfect form, so small, so frail.

Pure skin, crooked smile, unstained.

Eight years of life! Eight years! Now still!

Body cool beneath the thatch.



I wonder what you were thinking as you slept.

Frail hands--I hold your right,

little sister holds your left.

She's just learned to walk; you've escaped.

At peace, in rest, on this dirt floor.



You've just learned to fly.

No more games to  together,

and she can't imagine life without you.

You've just learned to die.

Now I'll tell the world about you



Mam-Ba too numb for words.

Ong-Pa does not yet know.

"Ten Ho: Huynh Duc Tranh", his pass says,

at the Phan Trau Trinh school each night.

He caught and laughed at my jokes!



He's a good student (WAS!  I can't believe he's dead!).

O, your little hands, limp fingers.

Once lithe, now so quiet.

Perfect form, so small, so frail.

Too frail, too quiet, too dead.



Pure skin, slight smile yet, unstained.

Eight years of life, EIGHT YEARS!, now so still.

Body cooling beneath the thatch,

half-in, half-out the hootch-door.

And I'll ever wonder what I was sent here for!



At peace, in rest, on the dirt floor.

("How will I remember this, years away",

I ask myself as the horror sinks in).

Form unblemished but for the dot

on his crisp blue shirt, Death's spot.



Where Death went in & THROUGH, hardly a stain,

you breathed out, but not in again.

Death went in, Death invaded,

while in perfect innocence you waited.

And now Almond Eyes Sleep there.



And now, Almond Eyes Weep here.

"Am trai, am trai", sister calls,

and looks at me; "ong my", "Ong My",

she thinks it's my name.

"Am gai, bubby sleeps, don't cry",

I try to lend comfort, but I have none to give.



Am gai, Thi Kim, sits watching in silence,

Beside him, questing eyes, full innocence.

Full of secrets now, and growing.

Never will this little girl

know more awful silence.

So wordless now,

no language

could say

the loss,

grief.



        It isn't well hidden.

        Among those darkening,

         beautiful, but sad,

            sad shadows,

     tiny rivulets are borning,

          not yet begun,

           but brimming

        & glistening, pent

          in the mystery

      of your too-quiet gaze

           into my eyes,

       & a child's silent,

            pensive

          questioning:

    is there ever any answer

     (when does a baby-girl

        become a woman?):

             "Why",

    & Almond Eyes cry here;

        they lie here;

        they died here.



I'm holding his one hand, she holds the other;

she looks at me, she watches me, she invades me.

He is not known for being this silent;

Taken, freed from his gentle prison.

I cry into the jungle, seeking a reason.



The green, listening Phuong trees stand near,

their blossoms, pods, twigs, leaves are lovely.

Soft tranquilizing breezes originate in these trees.

Their aroma is sweeter than jet-tresses in noon-sun.

Laughter-layered memories of this spot come back to me.



Languor-laden histories now, passed away.

Defeated by the deafening sigh

of Death's mournful soliliquy.

"Ignorant Armies" DO "clash by night", true?? It may be so;

but "ignorant soldiers" never!;

we were there, we saw, we know.



Oh!, the secrets that other Almond Eyes keep here!

Almond Eyes And The Street That Is Death . . . . . .

Layers and layers of of laughter-laden memories;

langour-laden histories of yesterdays, passing away;



defeated by the deafening sigh of Death's mournful soliloquy;

Oh!, the secrets that Almond Eyes keep there.

Marauding tiger of loneliness stalks now,

howling hounds of despair; no-one talks now.