very far away.
She is fourteen
and says they will kill her.
She loved school
before they made her stop,
because it is time
for her to earn money for the family.
There is a man
in the village
for whom they can get
get money
and Zahura will have a real home,
(that is what he says)
only the man
is forty-five.
She tells me
even before
the man
there was a boy
her brother’s friend
who touched her
on her private parts,
who fondled her breasts
who stuck his penis in
until she started screaming,
but he said
he would tell her family
she was planning to run away
(she never told him
how did he know?)
so she was silent
and mute
and swore
she would never speak again
until she met me.
This is what I think
our people
we have it so bad
Ha Jia told me
there are now less rations
in the refugee camps;
he read it
in an article
one of the merchants gave to him.
This is what I know
this is a shitty world
(Ha Jia taught me this word)
where people do not have enough food to eat
where Zahura
is touched
by her brother’s friend.
I will take care of you
you can sleep by my side
okay, I will not touch you
until you want me to
okay, if you never want me to touch you
I won’t,
but I think you will, some time
never
okay
never.
It is nice
at night
to have someone sleep near me
I pretend
there is love in my world
like I once felt, Mama
when I had
a home.
Here
is her story
Zahura was in a camp
she could leave Myanmar
and the sweltering heat
of the camp
where her Mom and sister were
but she
had to marry a man
three times her age
and then she was promised Thailand
a home
a husband
like hundreds of thousands of girls.
This is what she knew:
she could read and write
and thought maybe
just maybe
she could be a doctor
since the teachers
in the hut
said she was smart,
and the man
had a mean look on his face
it was etched there
like a dent on a mountain.
Zahura said
the mothers, they are afraid
the alternative
to a husband
is a sale into sexual slavery.
Isn’t this better?
her mother had asked her.
Better than what?
New York Times, 8/3/2015
She knew a girl
who also had dreams of working
in a hospital,
who now lives
in a suburb
of Kuala Lumpur
the Malaysian capital
caring for her mother
her ill sister
her sister’s baby
in a cramped room
while waiting the return
of her husband
who disappeared
months ago
saying he was looking
for work.
New York Times, 8/3/2015
May-may,
don’t tell me
the boys are getting thinner,
my sister is a stick.
Do you have any idea
what my life is like,
heavy water on my back
sweat like a set of skin,
but I have a girl
she sleeps far away from me,
soon
she will sleep close
so I can feel her breath,
and she will never leave me
maybe
I hope.
Let’s count stars
she says,
and even though it is crazy
I do it
and it makes her giggle,
a tiny little thing
caught between my fingers
like a cricket.
You can make wishes
on a star,
she shares,
so I wish
to sleep closer to her,
only she tells me
not to tell her my wish
since then it will never,
ever
come true.
I lean over
and kiss her,
she doesn’t stop me,
but she doesn’t let it linger, either.
Next time.
Yes, next time.
The next day
Ha Jia asks me
if I am okay.
Why do you ask?
You are just acting different.
I tell him I am fine,
But what does it mean
to act different?
You hardly write
to May-may.
You need lots
of Kan-Kaung-ba-zay *
I have nothing
to tell,
but all I do is shrug my shoulders
as if to say
I do not know
what you are talking about.
*Good luck
Am I different because my body
is now covered with hair?
Am I different because
my clothes no longer fit,
I feel
as big as the tree.
Am I different because
I am so hungry
I would even eat a rat,
and I might,
since I need more meat.
I need meat.
I feel heat.
I must be fifteen
so much time
has passed. Your face is a blur
of forestry,
and Pay-pay,
you are dead
but I need to know
if this fire inside me,
sweltering summer heat fire
is normal.
You are sweet,
she says.
No I am not
I am angry
I could be a lizard
I could sneak up on you at night
I could eat you in one quick swallow.
I could kill
the mother who left me,
and leave all my siblings orphans.
I could kill you, too
because my body
is a tree
next to your branch.
But all I say is
thanks.
Why are you here?
You are too close.
Please, move away.
But I can’t.
I want to feel her body
even for a moment;
I won’t hurt her
just feel her breasts,
and I am so hungry for her.
She opens her mouth wide,
but she can’t scream,
since she is hiding in these woods,
so I slip my tongue in her mouth,
but she bites me
breaks loose
runs awa
y.
Stop.
Yaq!
Yaq!
I am sorry.
I say it louder
Stop, I am sorry
But I’m not.
Not really.
She runs
like the wind.
I am too tired
to run after her,
and angry
since all I really did
was kiss her.
I wouldn’t have done anything else
unless she let me,
but she is like every woman
who runs away.
I had given her
half of my food for weeks
while I starved.
I lift my body,
but it won’t move.
The night cries
and then it stops.
and then it stops.
It’s not even
monsoon season.
Ha Jia calls me
a gentle giant,
but what about those ungentle feelings
what am I supposed to do
with them?
The night
is filled with ugly sounds,
and tonight
they are inside me:
growling
barking
scratching;
I may be the rat
that claws my way out of the dirt,
darting in and out of the woods
until I find her.
Phay loe ma thar *
I want to scream
and shout.
*Burmese profanity
She is lost
Zahura
I have looked everywhere,
sleep
never came
and now,
I must walk barefoot
because my sandals
no longer fit,
I am meant
to feel the splinters from the trees,
and carry
so much weight
on my broken back.
Water
pails and pails of water
I journey with water
on my back,
is it
a bucket of my tears
I carry back and forth
and to and from,
a bad burden.
This is what I know
as I lie on my back
and count the stars at night
(do you see stars, Mama?)
That each night
there is a different number
as if
they are disappearing
before my eyes,
and soon
there will be none.
And if
I saw her now
what would I do?
Stay away
like a leper
is that what she would want me to do?
Scream at her
so loud
the heavens might shake?
Or would I say
so
so sorry
for what I did
sorry that the world sucks
sorry I am a volcano
and I can’t keep the lava
inside.
In my fantasy
I am a better person
not one who
figures women to be
rats on the run,
maybe, May-may
you made my heart hard
like slimy stone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Look at you-
Bags under your eyes
you drag your body
like a dead cow,
and you don’t even eat
the little food I give you.
Do you want
to waste away?”
I want to tell Ha Jia
I am wasted
there is nothing left in me
if the rodents ate me for dinner tonight
I would be fine,
but all I do
is shrug.
She left me
and now there is nothing
for me to live for.
And then
I remember
I never told him
about Zahura,
and now I know
I have made it worse for her
If she ever comes back
(though she’ll never come back),
She will be back
he says
this is what I know
she will be back.
How did you know?
I saw
the bounce in your step
the smile on your face
how sometimes you ate like a hog
other times
I had to force feed you
like a baby,
and you did not rip up your May-may’s letters
not once
you may not have even read them.
I did not read them
well, sometimes I did.
Ha Jia
you can not tell anyone
she is already in trouble
from an arranged marriage
at fourteen
she has already been raped.
I figured
he said,
edging closer to me
until he was so close
I could smell his smoke-stained breath,
until I cuddled in his arms
like a baby
and cried
and cried
and cried.
Oh, my son
my boy, my boy
he held me tight
like I was a boy
lost at sea
like a boat
rocking and rocking
and next thing I knew
for the first time in weeks
I was fast asleep
in his arms.
When I woke up
in his arms
there was a moment
when I saw the mountains
the forest
the blue skies
dreamed the sea
and I felt safe
like a smiling star,
just for
a still moment.
Gway htoot.
Gway htoot
Gway htoot *
Did you hear what I said
Gway-htoot
and lee-gon
and fuck.
I just learned this word
from one of these American teens
who came to visit Ha Jia
for whatever reason.
I hope you can hear me, May-may.
I hope you can, too,
Zahura.
*Burmese profanity
What are you saying?
Don’t talk that way!!!
Those are nasty words!
What should I say?
My back is broken.
My heart is broken.
I will never see my family again.
What should I say?
You should say
everything will work out.
Bullshit.
I learned this word
too.
We will look for her
together
as soon as my nephew leaves,
there are just too many places to hide
in these woods,
and I know
all of them,
for I, too, had to hide
one time
for a very
long time.
I kiss him
and I hug him
and I tell him
I love him
though I am not sure
I love anyone.
I thought I loved Zahura
but she left me
like you did
and Pay-pay
and my sister
and my brothers.
There is no one left
to leave me.
Ha Jia
makes me read your last letter.
My dear Jubair,
not a day goes by
when I do not imagine you
what you look like
what you sound like,
what my tears would feel like
against your scratchy face;
yes, scratchy
since Ha Jia
tells me you are now
a man.
I never said bhine
to my boy,
and now he has turned
into a man.
How can I answer that
I do not feel
like a man;
I cry little boy tears
for my May-may
for my Pay-pay
for Zahura,
who perhaps I started to love
like a man.
But no one told me
how to treat a lady,
Pay-pay died
in silence,
and in our hut
we were swallowed
by silence,
too worried
about the next meal.
This is what I know
when you are worried
about where your next meal
is coming from,