My Lai, My Lie
They named the place My Lai,
but it echoes as my lie—
a soft syllable wrapping a hard truth,
a village turned into a footnote
because paperwork needed calm language.
Hands pulled triggers, yes—
but mouths followed later,
buttoned up in uniforms of denial,
calling orders “confusion,”
calling mercy “collateral.”
The men who did it said they were young,
said war made them smaller inside,
said fear spoke first.
The men who defended it said nothing at all,
which was louder.
My Lai, my lie:
the lie that obedience washes blood,
the lie that flags forgive,
the lie that courts move faster
than graves.
Fast-forward—new borders, same boots.
ICE knocks before dawn,
children memorize door hinges instead of dreams.
Different language, same math:
remove the inconvenient,
file the rest.
And the world watches, professionally concerned.
Statements issued, hands wrung,
feeds refreshed.
Outrage expires quicker than milk,
and empathy needs a subscription plan.
Wars keep happening with better cameras.
Killing now comes with talking points,
and silence has learned to sound neutral.
My Lai isn’t past—
it’s practiced, rebranded, exported.
My lie is thinking distance absolves me,
that history stays buried if renamed.
My Lai asks again, without shouting:
who benefits from forgetting,
and who is still alive because we don’t?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
