By Hiếu Minh Nguyễn
Convinced she’s in hell
my mother wakes me & begs to be taken
to the lake. Wailing in prayer on the kitchen floor
her skin itching with heat, a flame seizing for god.
I believe her. One day, we will all know when suffering comes
to play the instrument of our bodies. Her song, a single note
a copper kettle whistling for mercy. From the blue-black sand
of McCarrons, I watch her disappear
under the night water. Moonlit rings
spill from her absence.