3 Poems

POEMS by Sophia Nguyen, 11th grade

shadow

i am the ground that the sun never touches

because you’ve always been in the way

you, you’re the blockage of my light

but really, i think that’s okay

because i’m fine with being your shadow

even if that means i’ll never really understand the term “day”

i will take the brunt of your hits

and you can spin them into your tales of “yesterday”s

you walk, i follow, but that does not mean i’m the only one feeling hollow

but you, you get to talk,

and i, i have to swallow

all the words stuck in my throat because

shadows don’t speak

shadows only wallow

in the sadness of their fight to find space for their lack of light

i’m tired of you throwing me all of your plights

so, from the ground i will rise

an intransient shade before your eyes

being forgotten i cannot help but despise

and even if the sun refuses to acknowledge my name

i am no longer carrying yours as a disguise

finally, i

i get walk

but you, you will never have to follow

because even when shatteringly alone

you control the sun like apollo

but now we both get to talk

and now we both have to swallow the fear stuck in our throats that we won’t be good enough reasons to follow

but that’s enough for me

i will bask in the grandness of solidity

and you, even though you’re empty

a shell can still cast shadows

a shell is still something to be

ông bà (grandparents)

perhaps

for those who have become calloused to harshness

and familiar with sacrifice,

those who have lived with the absence of affection and

in its place

an empty abundance of strictness,

the most we can do is love them.

love them in the impossible attempt to undo that coldness,

as if to say there truly was something worth leaving for

worth staying for

unfailingly trying for

in the impossible attempt

to make up for a life barren of compassion because

it wasn’t fair.

it would never be fair.

to sacrifice everything for a place that habitually learns to cast

you out

how could you ever love it back?

how do i repent your trauma?

how do i embody gratitude,

or would it be apology?

how in the world can i ever grow into such an impossibly helpless role?

we are not big enough to carry the responsibility of generational trauma

i am where napalm-colored apologies

echo in my parents’ abandoned saigon homes

roll and thunder in the bombed ruins of hanoi

find me waiting at the fragile intersection

an eternal red light

where western “heroism” meets vietnamese desperation

an offer is given

a promise is made

a sacrificial future for an irreplaceable past

how can i undo your lifetime of trauma?

sunset

a deep breath

soft blue skies

cascading into calm

vibrant hues of

dirt-red pink

waning-day orange

the colors flux

to the steady saunter

of the dawdling sun

back stretched on the

summer-hot driveway pavement

lazy gaze cast up

set upon nothing

drinking in everything

timeless minutes trickle by

seconds stretched to their ends

evening overwhelms the last vestiges of brightness

a tired exhale