Võ Thị Như Mai
The Shape of Return
--after years away
.
i departed with spring in my heart
a suitcase lined with mother’s songs
and the tender grief of tamarind trees
bending to the battle-scorched wind
.
twenty years, and I still
hear the temple bell’s evening cry
still see father in sacred pause
his words remaining like incense smoke
.
i have journeyed along countless flowing rivers
but none I could remember
holding the resonant depth of Ô Lâu
where even the saltwater addresses
our ancient tongue
.
i remember dust
so divine I’d breathe it in
like scripture
here, the air is crisp
yet it fails to carry my name
.
on quiet nights I murmur QUÊ HƯƠNG
and it stirs a lullaby
folded into grandmother’s lap
the soft slap of slippers
on a tiled floor
.
home is not on any map
it is mother’s back, bent
like a question mark
that only I can comprehend
.
it is her voice
wrapping around my name
like the shawl
she wore to market
.
when time sheds its coat
when spring reveals
its cherry-laced streets
i remember it’s autumn back home
i remember
that I am two winds that roam
.
i will return
not as the girl who left
but as the woman
who gathered her scattered selves
and came home whole