As my father tells me his story, his story of his escape from Vietnam,
Tears fill his eyes and as he continues, my eyes, too, cannot stay dry.
He and his close friends travel across land,
Hiding between the trees of a midnight-darkened jungle.
They face the constant danger of discovery,
They dare not imagine the consequences of this catastrophe.
But it happens.
My father and his friends sprint and dart through the brush about them
As the Communists fire their guns, bullets whizzing by.
No one dares look behind them, for looking back
Slows one's running and this cannot be done.
But my father,
Keeping his eyes forward, in hopes of surviving,
Runs alongside these friends he has known for so long.
He begins to sense the disappearing presence of his comrades
As the bullets find their targets.
He is struck.
Not by not a bullet but a dilemma of whether to go back for his companions.
If he is to turn back or even to momentarily pause,
His fate would be no different than that of his fallen friends.
In honor of his friends, my father lives on.
© By Anthony Ly
