On Cambodia, The Killing Fields, A Short Note

you,
who drowned wordlessly
under waves of mud
not so many years ago
watch us now
from your final abode - though restful or not -
behind a pane - so much - of smoke - of incense

i,
who was born just yesterday
watch the undulations of the earth
walk over violent roots - white shards, like shrapnel -
with wary tiptoe -

am startled.

a child's
pitter-patter - shy
lilt of song

-- by yuelin, inspired by the Killing Fields and the surrounding events.

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