All posts filed under: Audio Poetry

Visiting Dad

Sitting in the front seat of Mom’s white 96 Civic. It’s a baking hot Folsom day. Beads of sweat smear across my forehead as I reach to readjust my hair–a matted mess from the almost two-hour-long drive I fight every urge within me to throw a fit. I’m trying not to get restless or bored–we came too far for this. On any other day I’d go through with it but today, I have chosen to preserve my energy. “Vo… Van… Villapan?” the white lady officer stutters. We all get up. Mom flashes a look at her, too weary to correct her again from the last time. “Make sure there’s nothing in your pockets,” she warns me and sis. The seat on the bus sticks to my skin. I glance up at Mom as she she quietly stares off into the distance. We rumble past towering old stone buildings One, two, three… I count the windows, squinting my eyes to see if I can catch a glimpse of anyone inside The bus screeches to a stop …

Missoula, 1976

By: Bryan Thao Worra At 3 years old in Montana, I became a citizen on Flag Day During the American bicentennial. That and a cup of coffee gets you A cup of coffee even if you write A thousand poems for a million elephants. I didn’t stay there, of course, But in that city I met my first ghosts And dinosaurs, gorgons and ancient gods. I played with a young girl named Dulcinea, Discovered the family pigs eaten by a bear, And saw my first neighbor die, Crushed beneath a fallen telephone pole. I wish I remembered his name. Our family dog Dutch, in his tragic jealousy, Tried to kill me a few times. I still have one scar from it after 40 years. But I miss him anyway, Because that’s the way refugee memory works. Author’s Note: Based on a true story. This week, June 14th is Flag Day, which celebrates the adoption of the US flag in 1777 by the resolution of the Second Continental Congress. Congress first established it in August, 1946, …