in Vietnam
i had noodles
almost everyday
except for the
french bread
and some
shrimps i miss the usual rice
which they
do not serve there
and thinking of rice makes
me miss
my own country like you there in Ontario
i began to count my days there
in my fingers
and then my toes and
then i decided to
come home for i cannot imagine
myself as a piece of a
ceramic figurine
which fell from that
display
breaking into pieces
it is very expensive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem