Lê Vĩnh Tài | the heat of a war (302)


By Lê Vĩnh Tài, translated by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm


you live in a city

faraway, the light shimmering, scented with evocations

one hundred and twenty one days in a paper box


in the air you breathe

the heat of a war

brought back the night terrors

bigger than a mushroom cloud


you’re prepared

like refugees

fire was the charitable meals 

thrown at you 


in slower deeper breaths

you’re flying passed the empty streets, until

the horizon was like a mailbox

full of junk mail


you filled up a full tank of gas but the tires were flat

there’s nothing left to do

you walked and you walked

until you could hear your breathing

resounding in sync with the sunset

in the lost soul month of July

in the torrential rain


and the people you knew were very cold…


bạn đang ở…

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