Even my poems sometimes turn into fiction stories…

Goodbye Saigon
JCD Kerwin

I see Saigon in her tea cup;
the soggy leaves turn red and
make explosions in my sight.

When I exhale,
I remember how hot it was
in summer when
mosquito nets
couldn’t keep me from
the sweat upon her skin.

Olive thighs
made me smile at stars
through windows while
bombs blew in
the night.

I’m alone in the quiet—
ceiling fan blades and cigarettes
become
my lament for her.
I see Saigon in silver droplets;
she was blood in the water.
Is this love?
(Was it love?)

I exhale jungle fire
from scorched memories.

Sigh, Saigon, sigh.

Nov., 2012