Untitled Cambodia
The
man using a crutch
in lieu of a right leg stands
or rather,
leans outside the
restaurant, his baseball cap
held out by
the rim, a bowl
for alms, while I sit inside
wrapped in a
wicker lounge chair
with plush cushions, dissatisfied
with
the way the posh French café
has prepared my eggs. The
man,
most likely a landmine or snake bite
victim, bows his
head to me
with extreme gratitude as I
place the small blue
transparent
plastic bag with the remains of my
breakfast,
one fried egg, one hash brown
into his upturned hat. Surprised,
by his gesture, I forget to bow back
Later
that afternoon, beside the massage parlor
where overzealous
women bombard
my boyfriend with offers, we are exuberant
like
children to find an ice cream parlor,
in Siem Reap and order
two cones, strawberry
and chocolate chip. Walking with
them
down the street in the
sticky heat, we get no further
than a
few steps, a few licks,
before a young boy of six with a
baby
strung to his hip is poking at my arm
with sweaty
little fingers and with his other hand
gesturing to his mouth
saying, “Please ma’am,
Yum, yum.” “Sorry,”
I say.
And the flavor of my cone sours.
Just as I enjoy my
martini less beside the
mother with her head wrapped
in
bloody bandages or my
A/C bus ride less with the hunched over
women
working the rice paddies outside my window.
At
a rest stop, a local woman
in line for the squat
toilets
notices the tissue paper
rolled up in my hand
and
asks me where I’m from,
“America,” I say. She
only nods.
She asks me how long we plan
to stay in
Cambodia. “Only one more
week,” I tell her, “We
love it here
but it is too expensive.” She looks at
me
strangely, “Too expensive, huh?”
and turns
away.
Acclimating to New Climates
Skin
boiling.
Strange places too; behind my knees,
Around my
ankles, between my fingers.
Only concrete and metal to melt
into.
So
I sit on the bank of the Chao Phraya,
a passage route through
the cluttered
Sizzling city, hallucinating desperate
immersion:
Jump naked into the unknown,
Swallow the
parasitic haven,
Embody the force of flow and disintegrate.
In
rare lucidity, I know the river people
will defecate and throw
trash into me
dump their oils and exhausts against my
current
and I am sure I will swallow with honor
and
forgiveness.
Ingest the small peace from this heat.
Ah,
but the merciful breeze
Has made a sail of Thai
silk.
Unanchored, I am already gone,
A corridor to the sea.