NGUYEN ANNAM

by

Martin Higgins

I am Nguyen, Nguyen Annam,

The motherless daughter of a Chinese man.

By the River Red, he kissed my head,

But these children are not my own.

These children are not mine.

They cry for milk?  Give them milk! 

Mother's land, Father's face, black, white, tan.

Tiny fist and angry face,

They know the wail of orphans long dead:

"Feed me!", "Give me warmth!", "Show me how!", "I want!"

In a world that struggles,

I struggle for air, for milk, for peace. 

When my belly is full, I lose my spirit.

My spirit is struggle and to cease is to cease.

When I am full I sleep, only to wake hungry.  To struggle.

Teach me the foot in the shoe,

The button in the hole,

The cartridge in the chamber,

I know the rest.

It is the wail of orphan's long dead, 

Suckled at a milkless breast.

You seed my paddies; you wear my silk and carry my basket.

The Delta is my heart and I am cloaked in emerald.

But I am only Earth; soft brown clay and rice.

You spring up from me and sink back into me.

I am one of the twin sisters who fell,

Slain by a Chinese man at the River Red! 

But these children are not mine. 

All children are mine!

I was born a thousand years ago,

In Nineteen Fifty-four!

Split by a word into Twin Warrior Sisters,

With no Father by the River Red,

Nursing angry orphans at milkless breasts,

Until their cries shot across the sky

To rip my cloak, tear at my flesh

So many orphans,

With mothers both living and dead. 

So many, I have lost count.

I am Nguyen, Nguyen Annam,

The motherless daughter of a Chinese man.

By the River Red, he kissed my head,

But these children are not mine.

Copyright ©1998

Martin Higgins

all rights reserved