on the day i loved you
Khai Q. Nguyen
on the day i loved you
darkness covers me with a gellatin sheet
ten years old i watched a guy of thirty
bathing naked
smooth luffas in full bloom
croon to me lying on a sand bar of dying grass color
i loved thee on the eighth of february
‘twas scorching hot and the wind was playing on my skin
as if i loved unrequitedly
love told in legends may be as much
as a mouse broken-headed,
put into toilet, vanished in the flow
i loved thee and we loved
decaying like an old mango tree
katuk stems under a touch of ground frost
a fog droplet in the light
by the sun as red as an orange plate
i brought with me my love unto sand grains
flying far, setting foot on my arms
when i was eight writing in my own language
clinging to bowls’ broken pieces under banana corms
siamese rough bush bears fruit
tiny, goldenrod, sweet
let my soul rest on the day i loved thee
untarnished
[this poem first appeared in slightly different form in New Note Poetry (now defunct), Winter 2023]
homo sapiens
until one day
a voice whispers
‘don’t burn your poems.’
a young guy smiles at me
i won’t, i promise
dear my narcissists
i won’t have to argue for my worth
to be here on earth
i won’t have to ask for your permission
to love a gay love poem
to cry in silence
i won’t have to prove my existence
i am a homo sapiens
after all, just like you
i’ve survived
je m’éveille
perdu dans la lumière
je suis perplexe quant
au sommeil malentendu
de cet amour qui m’a vaincu
C’est dans la nuit, hantée par mes rêveries
que je t’ai rencontré
Tout a été si vite
comme un coup d’éclair
Nous n’avions rien à nous dire
rien à partager
seulement des baisers
& quelques mots perdus
Tout à coup
les chants si étranges des hiboux
m’éveillent
sur les prairies au pays étranger, très loin, sans pluie
Là, mon âme vit et pleure des larmes d’une solitude absolue
Le rêve est si beau
& le réveil si dur
Dans nos villages
deux hommes ne s’embrassent pas
Mon amour est interdit, mais inévitable
Mille fois déjà, mon cœur me l’a dit: c’est incontournable
Mon amant, continuons à faire les fous
amusons-nous
Jusuqu’à ce que ce moment disparaisse au début
de l’univers inconnu
Faisons de ce monde autoritaire un échec, abattu
like a ghost
jumbled words waiting on my tongue
afraid to fall out
no thoughts
no desire
no appetite
my mother is like my daughter now
cooking for a dead relative
on the altar
calling him once meals are served
i don’t feel energized after a long sleep
and i have to check id to remember who i once was
‘you’re an annamite,’ the voice says
then words also vanish
nothing nothing but this
i am just sitting as my
itchy skin eats me alive
in the mirror i can’t recognise
that shivering leaf that
is disappearing, like a ghost
Khai Q. Nguyen is a queer writer living in the northern mountains of Vietnam with words in Akéwì Magazine, CounterPunch, Eunoia Review, great weather for MEDIA, Mal de Ojo, Mekong Review, Porch LitMag, Rogue Agent Journal, and elsewhere. He holds master's degrees in comparative literature and cultural studies from the universities of Perpignan, St Andrews, and Santiago de Compostela. Twitter @ToruMoe, Instagram @khaiqnguyen.
