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Poem

The monks gave me a bag of Thai oranges
Before I left for the States.

Next time I come, I’ll have learned more Lao,
I promise.

      They promise there will be more to show the next time.

Sitting outside the Khop Jai Deu restaurant
Waiting for my bus to come

Elvis is crooning “Return to Sender”
       Because there’s no such number,
       And no such home.

I took a photo of the fountain
Next to the Scandinavian Bakery,
Tuk-tuk drivers loitering nearby.

Handing them some fruit,
They ask, “How long are you staying in Laos?”

   And I reply,
   “This is my last day.”

The sun looks like it could be peeled wide open
While I take a bite of a giant orange,

Trying to wring out a last memory from this light, 
Wondering when the King’s song is ever going to end

   The scent of citrus on my hand
   Sinks deeply past my bones,
   Trying to harden into an anchor

   The shape of a kind heart.

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