Sao Lao Poem by Bryan Thao Worra

When she says my true name as 'Ai Somnouk, ‟
Giggling in passa Lao, I‟m shaken
And think she‟s beautiful in these shadows.

It‟s too simple to get me to smile.
It‟s too simple to remind me of home.

The rules to get my attention should be as
Complicated as Cold War politics and not
A button that‟s simply the sound of her voice.

I reminisce in abstraction,
Distracted by what it takes to make me miss Laos so.

Not a face. Not a memory of an illicit touch:

The pressure of her slim fingers against mine,
A warm smile with the scent of distant Sam Neua.

A breath of whisper and papaya.
Thick hair the hue of night and lustrous brass.

A dance within a sliver of time between two
Who might have nothing in common besides a mere war.

None of these are necessary to me,
Slowly undoing my buttons back home alone

Ashamed I want to remember the sound of my own name
So much.

Whispering hers, when she cannot hear me.