Illumination of Toxins

The Laotian monks tell my mother I was born with an old soul. Khon salat nyawm pen Khon hujak fang The crone informs my grandmother I will write something great, Though perhaps not a novel. Leuak xang hai boeng hang Leuak nang hai boeng mae My father is taught There are few doors a little tip won’t open And fewer roads a shortcut Isn’t called for. Ngoen kham ha dai, Nam jai ha yak I learned stories of myself that coalesce Into a mosaic of goose feathers and papyrus reeds And I don’t know how much of this I believe anymore. Pai boeng huup ngao.

By: Bryan Thao Worra -submitted on 08/20/2005 ©2005. Bryan Thao Worra