A Poem for my People

For the ones who couldn’t speak Because a gun was jammed down your throat Heng ot prap hey yay “I didn’t say you can speak” Or a knife was being held against your tongue Heng ot yey dit “You will never speak again” For the ones who couldn’t speak But just stare At the decaying bodies floating down the Mekong River Fathers, sons, mothers, daughters, infants.. The scent of rotten flesh, organs, and souls A pool of our native people, killed by native themselves To cleanse. But instead of cleansing our land, we’re infesting our soil with blood. Leaving no nourishment for our seeds to sprout. For every grain of rice that I still seem too look past. Every time my mother told me it was “bap” to throw away any amount of rice. Nam bay tong oh Eat all your rice She hardly speaks of when she was forced into the rice field Work or be killed Be killed or work For the monks, educators, musicians, and farmers. We were the targeted ones. For the ones who were forced to hide their identity and didn’t get away with it For the ones who did get away If someone had glasses like I did Or read a book like I did I would be dead like they are For my father- who knew an education was equivalent to a bullet to his head, so he ran away from home. For my best friend’s mother, who had to sleep in a ditch among the dead just to ensure she’ll see tomorrow Her father, a general slain by the khmer ga-hom with an apple in his mouth as if he were a pig For the people of Cambodia, but not just Khmers. For Chams, Laotians, Meins, Hmongs.. For the two million un-rested souls For the unidentified landmines and bomb casualties. Children running playing tag, but find themselves stepping on the wrong home base. All of us- Striving to understand what went wrong. For the fine arts- apsara, coconut dance, and operas Which was still kept alive after it was banned Apasras still danced as free as water The youth still come together and rhythmically tap coconut shells Operas still sing of a time when Cambodia was great For one of the most powerful empires in Southeast Asia And after a four year cultural genocide Cambodia still breathes She inhales the beautiful lotus flowers blossoming throughout her land She inhales the flute music She inhales life She exhales the years 1974-1979 She exhales Toul Sleng Because Cambodia isn’t genocide Cambodia isn’t genocide Cambodia isn’t genocide She doesn’t want to be known only for the mass killings that occurred on her land She exhales red- removing blood from her soil. Forgetting the khmer go-hom. Cambodia lives She is breathing and in out Though she almost died 3 decades ago But Cambodia has been alive since the year 600 AD For ancient Angkor- the largest pre-industrial urban center in the world A city that supported a million people Angkor Wat reminds us of the power Cambodia has Cambodia lives She is breathing In And Out She tells us of history His-story Her-story War-story We must tell our story.