Danh Vo, 2013. Leather.
By the border the tunnels stopped
& fell, the tear of fabric forming zigzags
daughter nailed through at the tip like a bullet
the shine of leather, sweat of
mottled brown backs
Have a seat, you must be tired;
at least it wasn’t your son
Finding the cheap couch at home that smelled like car sickness
A blind man’s hands in the foreign dirt, whispering home
skidding the age of Yunnan rice wine with a san fen sugar pop
Negotiate, you must be tired;
car sickness
& angular beauty seen through the rear-view window
seconds before the light
Introduce yourself, you must be tired;
Outis is my name;
Wartime wrapping pig-oiled weapons in leather
It was our hunger. It was
our hunger. It was our
hunger
thrown over the rising sun, muffling the flame of dawn
like a wet towel over a forest fire
The forest was your home before it was no man’s land
confetti’d with sugar pop wrappers from the last unit
who took farm girls with their cokes
Does the leather cover her like the earth did?
Does the leather smell as much like Ma when
She broke bullets from her skin?
Who are you?
I am nobody.
Where are you?
Believe. It’s a privilege not to
(i) become
(i) hide
Smear of plaster that stuck to its frame, feeling
My promise: I’m done with
their language & their men, dog whistle shrillness
& shoved like a badge on the tip of the tongue
Remind me of our soft syllables, sloped hips,
faces flowering
flooding inhale
The press of hide against skin, a
crack of wood, sunlight
sterilized & held & held to a frame
Executive Order wild me
deframe me
disgust me
war me
hold me
The herd was your heart before they were your hell
pushing your river into mine
merging at the mouth
I want to be free.
Hold on.
2025