In Vietnam the sound of the bullets still rang
bullets bounced off ceramic
bowls of stagnant
Holy water.
Kim Hoa your habit
and skirt shielded you
from the
wretched screams of war.
Stray bullets went through
your skirt
and left the scent of gunpowder
between your legs.
And the sound of the bullets
still rang.
I saw the pain in your eyes
Kim Hoa
as you explained how the
cement statue of Mary
would protect your home
cause the sound of the bullets
still rang.
The voices of protests
traveling over rice fields and land
mines
into your dreams of
dead soldiers and weeping nuns.
The Red River Delta is spoiled
with casualities of war and rancid
tears.
And the sound of the bullets still rang
Stop pretending that you are safe
here in America.
Kim Hoa you think that
your cement statues and plastic rosaries
will protect you from those
haunting chopper sounds and sporadic gunfire.
Cause the sounds of the bullets still rang
here in your comfort zone.
Kim Hoa you still see flashes of Agent Orange.
Kim Hoa you still smell Napalm.
Kim Hoa I see you running
I see you running
tripping for freedom
Kim Hoa left Mary with me
cause the weght was too much.
And the sound of the bullets still rang.

I was inspired to write this poem( May 2001) when a Vietnamese woman approached me while I was working at a swapmeet. She walked up to me and asked me to watch this huge cemet block while she shopped. I volunteered. When she came back she informed me that the block was for a huge statue of the Virgin Mary to keep in her backyard. She then proceeded to share her life story with me.