After Macklemore’s song

 I

When I was five
Playing soccer in Saigon
I realized I liked him
Instead of her.
On the playground
I tried to find a boy
Who could build me a house
Like the one my father built.
Most kids could not
Pick up wood
With their scrawny arms.
They scooped mud
And dime-sized
Starfruit leaves.
Behind my house
I found a beautiful
Boy who brought me caramel
Spun on a coconut leaf stem.
I thought I found someone 
Like my father.
I ate all the honey colored sugar.
He smiled.

II

I questioned
If I would rather die
Than live as a straight man.
My father said he would
Protect his son from bullies.
But how could he protect me
From himself?
I knew he wanted to leave
Since I was eight.
PTSD riddled his skull
With bullet holes.
When the wind blew 
He heard the sound of metal
Whistling.
He left the house each morning
So I wouldn’t hear him cry.
I walked to my backyard
Built a piggy bank from
Earthworm vomit.
Took out nickels
And incense ash
To patch up the holes.
I didn’t have enough.

Your hands are not as soft as they used to be.
The calluses tell me the number of times
You have rubbed someone’s feet
For the catfish on our table.

Each morning you look into the mirror
And see how your red lips have darkened
From drinking dirt water so your sons
Can eat coconut meat. 

You thought if your lips had not faded
Your husband, my father, would not have left us.
This is not true; his eyes did not age with wisdom
Foolishness made his iris blind.

You hated the dark bags under your eyes
Thinking they made you look ugly.
I must admit
I lost sight of beauty.

The swollen bags remind me of
The number of times you took my father’s fists
Against your face, so that your sons
Could have a father in their lives.

Once a year
Santa would climb down the chimney,
Drop a present,
Eat my cookies,
Leave the crumbs
And disappear.
My father would leave a fruit,
Take a hug,
And with the scent of tobacco
And rinds of cherimoya remaining
Slip out the back door.
When I grew older,
No matter how much I wished
For Santa to appear
He would not.

A house is left in shambles
And chaos when
An owl with
Peppered salt feathers
Visits a home
With no fence.

My mother calls the woman
An owl monk.
She visited our house
Once, and ever since, you have
Not forgotten her,
An exile from the
Temples of the Nine Mountains.

You used wood from our house
To build her a fence because
You think she is a worshipper
Of Buddha. Her hair is shaven,
But the tips of feathers’ shafts
Can be seen by everyone
But you.

She has lost many homes-Temples.
She cruelly schemes
Men – Fathers.
But she is scared that
She is running out of her own
Short
Black strands.

To make a new nest
On top of the next home
Left to crumble.
You sat and watched as
The owl
Flies to a
Fenceless house.

Ours.