The taste of honeysuckles
The taste of honeysuckles
My trinh, binh dinh
each summer evening
She walks to the woods with her sister
past white graves of slaughters
the village is still grieving
past the altars of nameless civilians and martyrs
she looks for honeysuckles
plucks the flowers from their green armors
unto the mouth –the sweet taste of nectar
sugar lingers in the tongue
too young to brood over past troubles
from leaves to sleeves,
toxins filled the lungs
bombs dropped over the hill,
“shoot to kill!”
children ran towards foreign handsome devils
the fawn weaves her sorrow
she makes a necklace with the petals
from yellow to red
colors glowed with the sunset
signaling, soon dawn brings tomorrow