Another poem: Vietglish

My brother described himself as a ‘cultural cocktail’, a description that I loved. It got me thinking, and those thoughts turned into this poem.

 My mother is Vietnamese

And my father is Jewish.

So what does that make me?
I’m a sibling, one of three.
Alex looks white
And Anthony looks Asian.
Apparently I look confused,
Or is that called Asian persuasion?
So what does that make me?
Because I don’t feel English.
I strongly associate with the Vietnamese.
I am Viet, please.
It’s the year of the goat,
for those of you to which that sounds like something remote,
It is a new lunar year,
A yet unconquered new frontier.
So, as society begins to foster hate
I’d like to take a moment to really appreciate,
that those you hate are also the ones you fear
and your fear isn’t going to disappear.
We fear what we don’t understand,
We don’t understand that when governments role the dice,
People’s lives are cut and sliced.
Sold and pre-determined.
Propagated and cast as vermin.
My father always tells me that he made me out of clay.
The love in that sentiment moves me everyday.
How can their be such prejudice, anger and rage,
When ultimately, we are all made out of clay,
Walking, running, and headed the same way.
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