“Where does water come from? The sky?”
Millions of droplets hang in the air. Have you met?
Are you related? Maybe I’ll see you
Across the Avenue d'Italie next June.
It will be too hot. You’ll pray for rain. Does it rain here?
Marine reflects off the windows above,
while behind them the old folks die in their flats.
It’s not for me. I don’t know why I came.
First appears a drip on the walls.
Everything is fated from then.
A trickle, a stream, then a red river overruns itself.
What was disparate coheres. Fish swim off without a trace,
As we join a gathering by the river’s edge.
The farmers know a flood brings better crops once it’s settled.
In tumult, we wait. The river runs through us,
And into the sea.
I don’t live there anymore.
What’s the weather like in America?
I hear they burn their grain for heat.
A dam as impressive as this, once broken,
Floods villages far afield,
Even the dry ones.
It’s a long way to walk; we’ll do it when it’s frozen
- Tyler Nguyễn
- photo by Alice Pedroletti