CARRIE CHAPPELL

Vietnamese New Year

Here in the satellites, we come our feet touching
the latch, forgetting the one-hour time difference, the infestation
of boll weevils in this growing region. So, we pause in the moments of non-
abuse to comment on parrots, how they never die.

You say there’s always a moment where the teacher becomes the amputee,
a singing imitation of trauma. The prosthetic toe, a little beast,
invented for the star that lost its heart in Hanoi just after
the agreement. This waking parachute dropping along the lip

of the courtyard wall lifts five men at once. Swelling in the silk
cloth, ashes. I don’t blame you for cremation, but shouldn’t we save
something for the end? That was the plan, this was the reason
for the quiet attack. I’m sorry you don’t understand: this is the deformity.

In the beginning, we ferry across the moon to discover where we all
must return. Remember you are the teacher, remember the sleep,
remember the student said graves of our ancestors, lucky orbit, escape.
Here, many eyes make the slender gun swallow birds.