Between Souls

B e t we e n S o u l s

Poetry by Bryan Thao Worra

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CONTENTS On a Stairway in Luang Prabang

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Leuk Lao

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Surprises in America

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Khop Jai for Nothing, Falangs

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Jaew

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E Pluribus Unum

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The Spirit Catches You, and You Get Body Slammed

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Democracia

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A Wat Is To Temple As To Escape Is To Survive

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Today’s Special at the Shuang Cheng

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New Myths of the Northern Land

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Insomniacafe

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An Archaeology of Snow Forts

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Libertree

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Zhū Bājiè

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One Day

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About the Author

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Selected Awards and Recognition, 1991-2011

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Partial Publications List: 1999-2011

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Selected Performances, 2005-2011

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On a Stairway in Luang Prabang Step as you will through life, A thousand ways, a thousand places.

Carry a home in your heart Or spend years seeking the door Where your soul will always smile.

Do you ease the way for others, Or just yourself?

Do you climb great mountains Just to leave them unchanged?

One day, the heights of holy Phu Si Will lay as soft valleys.

We, only memories.

But our children’s children?

Will they, too, have reason to smile, Like those dreaming strangers Who finished their stairs for us?

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Leuk Lao We meet on the road But once and I cannot tell you In the time we have: "We are one."

"What's left, what survived, what remains Of old dreams, old wars, old loves."

We share atomic lives: Small, brief, unpredictable orbits, Curious flurries of motion and smiles.

Who you become after I go, I can only guess Except by the photos Of occasional touring strangers In which I watch you grow, While you remember an eye, A camera, a wave goodbye.

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Surprises in America It took me by surprise that Hitler was a vegetarian.

Rudolf Hess, too.

I remember reading about them as a boy.

I remember the outrage when someone asked us to forgive them Because the two would pet their dogs before night.

It took me by surprise that "Soldier of Fortune" offered a reward For Idi Amin.

Paid in gold.

Dead or alive.

It was a lot of money.

What does it say when mercenaries set bounties on tyrants' heads?

It took me by surprise that we weren't always the good guys.

What couldn't we buy in the land of the free?

Why couldn't we go where we weren't welcome?

It struck me by surprise that many people didn't believe I was an American When I had lived here all of my life.

(Except for that two-day trip to Toronto.)

If they had told me instead that my mother had died, I don't think I would have been as surprised.

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Khop Jai for Nothing, Falangs The bomb popped in his face While he was digging a fire pit For his family squatting On the old mercenary camp In Xieng Khouang province So notorious for its UXO. “They live there for the American plumbing,” Our host said flatly, Watching volleyball games by the airstrip.

This was wholly routine.

The ruined grounds were frozen.

Explosives, dormant blooms below Can be mistaken for ice and rock easily.

And he screamed The whole while as we loaded Him into the back of our rickety plane To Vientiane that

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Lao Aviation picked up from The Russians when everyone Thought the Cold War Was going somewhere.

The California girl on holiday Was aghast and found it Quite unscenic.

What a pall on her search for highs.

In Wat Inpaeng, A monk named Souk Confided discretely: “We really hate hippies.”

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Jaew Goes in hot. Comes out hot.

But this may be more than the casual student Will want to know.

Mom’s grinding chilies for me in Modesto.

Red, green, a dash of fresh cilantro, Fermented shrimp sauce and a pinch of salt Between her mortar and pestle.

Dabbing a sticky ball of khao nhio Into the tiny ceramic saucer, I know She’s a sorceress In her kitchen Trying to find a way to say She loves me, hoping my prodigal tongue Is still Lao enough To understand what her broken English cannot convey.

My eyes are cisterns of tears after 30 years.

I should say “mak phet” and grab some cold milk But with a smile through the pain I stammer “Saep lai, Mae, delicious, Mom. Saep lai, hak Mae lai lai.”

“Don’t talk, just eat,” she says between her tears.

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E Pluribus Unum Youa tells me a story over the hot hibachi: How she went to Laos To see her lucky sisters For the first time in two decades, Since the country has loosened up enough To let tourists like us in.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks me, Then says she gave her sister Mayli $50 To help her family.

When Youa returned to the Twin Cities, She learned her sister had been murdered For the money

By Mayli’s ex-husband, who’d heard Of their family reunion And thought the cash rightfully belonged to him.

“Did you give your relatives anything?”

She asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “$500. But they say they need more To get to America.”

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The Spirit Catches You, and You Get Body Slammed I came to Missoula to ask him About the inner workings of ua neeb.

To understand the symbolic significance of split horns And spirit horses who trace their noble smoky path To turns of an auspicious moon above ancient Qin. My tape recorder at the ready, My fountain pen freshly filled with indigo ink, My ears, my eyes, my heart: All were humbly waiting for The wise shaman's words To impart to the next generation Of youths who sought this fading voice.

He spoke, and my interpreter said: "Who's your favorite wrestler?"

I wasn't certain I'd heard properly.

"Grandpa wants to know who your favorite wrestler is."

My interpreter turned back to the shaman, speaking Hmong.

Rising with a stately elder's grace, the shaman confidently said: "Randy Macho Man Savage!" and struck a macho pose.

Smiling, he then offered me a cup of hot coffee.

I was too stunned to say anything more For the rest of the afternoon.

Years later, I still have dreams of shining Shee Yee Smashing writhing demons into blue turnbuckles, Watching next to a hundred smiling shamans in the audience.

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Democracia Father was a tiger Ground beneath the wheels His fat was burned to light a torch But there’s no liberty here Only the ashes of the village That couldn’t evolve Where ghost grandchildren play with ghost grandparents And the parents are nowhere to be seen at all.

Where have they gone? Where have they gone?

A delay of a day for an idea, a delay of a lifetime for the dead upon the ground.

Look, what remainsThis hut hasn’t the ambition of Ozymandias These craters were once a rice field This ox was no man’s enemy And what we have left to say could explode any minute.

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A Wat Is To Temple As To Escape Is To Survive Among the many stone Buddhas A young monk's almond eyes stood out A bare-headed boy, slender and serene Clad in saffron, caught seconds before the next prayer Walking towards nirvana with a precocious smile I wondered if someday in a distant century we would see a statue of him paving the way for my children.

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Today’s Special at the Shuang Cheng Coated in caramelized salt: the suckers of a squid tendril diced into impotence between my chopsticks and baked they once clutched at an ocean writhing with life holding on to each precious bite.

What will worms use to hold my bony hands if i don't let them throw me into the sea a handful of dust with a hint of squid flavoring.

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New Myths of the Northern Land “Dream,” I said, “Aren’t you tired of making new legends That no one but I ever hears?”

“Bones,” she said, “Aren’t you ever tired of asking questions That only I can answer?”

I went back to bed, Waiting for the new king to arrive, His talking mirror filled With dire pronouncements of flame.

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Insomniacafe If God with his hundred sacred names must caper about like a young child full of infinity hiding among a blade of field grass, grey cathedral cornerstones or the wizened hands of a stranger in Calcutta overcome with kindness in a cosmic game of peek-a-boo, how can he hold a grudge against those honest enough to say "I don't know if I've really seen him lately?"

Lording over a cup of cappuccino like an Italian monk on watch at midnight, I wonder briefly if the faithful will have to sit in a corner of paradise for a while for perjury.

With another sip, eyes wide as Daruma or some crazed cartoon cat, I wonder if I'll ever get to sleep this way...

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An Archaeology of Snow Forts There’s not much left to be said That some well-washed stone hasn’t heard before.

History is composed of broken walls and bad neighbors, Just ask these chips from Berlin, the Parthenon and Cathay Or these cool magma hands of Pompeii, dark and grey.

If you listen carefully in the right place On University Avenue, you will learn There is a minor wall near the Yalu River Dancing on the hills of Qin for the moon, Who knows exactly what I mean In every tongue worth mention.

She’s moonlighting as a curved garden serpent Coiling around old Laocoon, The Suspicious One with his astute eye, Crooning with a sly wink, “Come, touch true history.”

And how the moon must laugh when she spies The tiniest hill in Minnetonka, Where the small hands of the earth have erected A magnificent white wall, A snowy miniature Maginot Raised some scant hours before, Already melting into a hungry, roiling river Who is not yet finished eating Louisiana for brunch.

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Libertree The tree of liberty devours the loyal Grinding them between burning flag teeth and a ton of open doors.

Blue lakes formed in the footprints of Babe While the trail of tears formed a bloody river.

Washington had a thing for breaking cherry trees and raising hemp That was good for strong ropes to bind us all together In a frenetic world of neckties and necessities.

No one knows the names of Afghan heroes or Hmong veterans Whose fathers raised opium crops now littered with landmines.

Few can tell you where Russia is, even after fifty years Of cold wars in tropical nations they “never vacationed in, personally.”

They would be unable to tell you how many of our allies are In an impossible debt, negotiating a cost-effective betrayal.

But they can tell you about "Friends" and Miss October.

Miscellaneous documents outlining Illiterate farmers with $200 anti-tank weapons Have surfaced to air our missile mania, A culture where no one sees the irony Of naming a million-dollar cruise missile After a tomahawk, while defanged reservations cope With under-funded schools.

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People laugh as immigrants report stories of American giants Who press you beneath their green thumbs stained with dollars When it's time to eat.

Cannibalized ideas and epics lay exhausted, scattered apple-seeds In urban canyons formed by alien policies of war and leverage.

And a great love of sequels.

Half of the nation has never seen an orchard, Only the recycled city papers They are being ignored in as usual.

Somehow, the Cubans managed to preserve The purity of baseball and cigars While we still can't imagine the rules to Canadian curling, Despite our open borders.

And strangely, when a laughing yellow cab driver Who was a former engineer from Iraq tells me about US chemical weapons and acid rain, I'm just not as surprised as I wish I could be.

His last words rang like a cracked bell outside Of a smoking capitol of conspiracies: "When there's a new war, watch.

A refreshing new ethnic restaurant will open in your neighborhood soon…”

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Zhū Bājiè Tian Peng Yuan Shuai was The honored Grand Admiral of 800,000, Marshall of the Heavenly River.

Under his proud hand, The enemies of the empire met doom by sea, Sinking beyond eye and history, or dying in mud, forgotten mayflies.

To each their duty. Names for the victorious only.

What his foes fought and died for, their societies of tools and song, Could be of no concern. Only tomorrow and blood, blade and command.

For centuries there were no Chinese autobiographies.

Only their commentaries on the words of war and state Applied.

Paper and ink were holy here.

All he truly saw, lost in the bureaucracy of testimonies.

During his final peach banquet among the heavens, Chang’e, Goddess of the moon, Was a beauteous guest before the splendors he preserved.

Who would not be a fool before her?

Who would not risk all for her attentions?

To her, he was just another drunken butcher the empress rebuked.

In apology, the admiral, abashed, resigned.

To earth descending, to be a better legend.

Later on some savage isle, The Lord of the Flies makes a meal of a boar’s head, Knowing nothing of Tian Peng Yuan Shuai, The lives he ended or the lives he led.

One December morning, A poet waits for April in Minneapolis Thinking of a pretty girl, a moon, a pig.

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One Day Mother-in-law threw out the paper plate I wrote a poem on.

“What was it doing there in the first place?”

Was her first question.

The next was: “How good could it be, If it fit on just one?”

Too late, the trash-man has come by Leaving behind only an empty bin.

Breakfast today was a McDonald’s McMuffin, Her treat, As she eyed my wrapper suspiciously Between bites.

How delicious it was!

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About the Author Bryan Thao Worra was born in 1973 in Laos during the Laotian civil war. He came to the US at six months old, adopted by a civilian pilot flying in Laos. Today, Bryan Thao Worra has a unique impact on contemporary art and literature within the Lao, Hmong, Asian American and the transcultural adoptee communities, particularly in the Midwest. In 2003, Thao Worra reunited with his biological family after 30 years during his first return to Laos.

An award-winning poet, short story writer, playwright and essayist, his prolific work appears internationally in numerous anthologies, magazines and newspapers, including

Bamboo Among the Oaks, Kartika Review, Tales of the Unanticipated, Astropoetica, Illumen Outsiders Within, Innsmouth Free Press, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Hyphen, Bakka, Whistling Shade, Journal of the Asian American Renaissance, and Asian American Press.

He is the author of the books BARROW, On the Other Side of the Eye and Winter Ink. In 2009 he received an NEA Fellowship In Literature. Thao Worra curated numerous readings and exhibits of Lao and Hmong American art including Legacies of War: Refugee Nation Twin Cities (2010), Emerging Voices (2002), The 5 Senses Show (2002), Lao’d and Clear (2003), Giant Lizard Theater (2005), Re:Generations (2005), and The Un-Named Series (2007).

He speaks nationally at colleges, schools and community institutions including the Loft Literary Center, Intermedia Arts, the Center for Independent Artists and the Minneapolis Institute of Art. He has worked as an arts and cultural contractor for the Minnesota Historical Society, the Hennepin County Library System, the Council on Asian Pacific Minnesotans, and the Minnesota State Arts Board.

Thao Worra is working on his next books and several personal projects to reconnect expatriate Lao artists and writers with their contemporary counterparts in Laos following over 35 years of isolation.

You can visit him online at http://thaoworra.blogspot.com or e-mail thaoworra@gmail.com

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Selected Awards and Recognition, 1991-2011 

2011 Minnesota State Arts Board Artist Initiative .

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2010 Literacy Award, Lao Professionals of Illinois.

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2009 National Endowment for the Arts, Fellowship in Literature for Poetry.

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2009 Asian Pacific Leadership Award, State Council on Asian Pacific Minnesotans.

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2008 Artists Initiative Grant, Minnesota State Arts Board.

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2007 Career Initiative Grant, Loft Literary Center.

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2005 Minnesota State Arts Board Cultural Collaboration Award with Mali Kouanchao.

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2002 Minnesota Playwrights Center Many Voices Artist-In-Residence.

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1994 Otterbein College Quiz and Quill Poetry Contest, First and Third Place.

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1994 Otterbein College Quiz and Quill Walter Lowre Barnes Short Story Contest, First Place.

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1994 Otterbein College Quiz and Quill Roy Burkhart Religious Poetry Contest, Second Place.

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1993 Otterbein College Quiz and Quill Personal Essay Contest, First Place.

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1993 Otterbein College Quiz and Quill Roy Burkhart Religious Poetry Contest, Second Place.

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1991-1992 Otterbein College Quiz and Quill Poetry Contest, Second Place.

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1991 James E. Casey Memorial Scholarship.

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1991 Otterbein College Ammons-Thomas Award.

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1991 National Honor Society Debra Kolander Service Scholarship, Saline High School.

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Partial Publications List: 1999-2011 Books BARROW, Sam’s Dot Publishing, 2009 Tanon Sai Jai, Silosoth Publishing, 2009 Winter Ink, MN Center for Book Arts, 2008 On the Other Side of the Eye, Sam’s Dot Publishing, 2007 My Dinner with Cluster Bombs: The Tuk-Tuk Diaries, Unarmed Press, 2003 Touching Detonations, E-book, Sphinx House Press, 2003

Magazines, Journals and Anthologies “The Spirit Catches You and You Get Body Slammed,” et al. How Do I Begin?, Heyday Books, 2011 “Khop Jai For Nothing, Farangs,” National Endowment for the Arts Writers Corner, 2010 “Home Is To Box As To Leave Is To Free,” et al. Kartika Review, Spring 2010.

“The Last War Poem,” Culture and Customs of Laos, Greenwood Publishing Group, March 2009 “Selves,” “Voyage,” Grinding Up Stones, Spring 2009.

“Planting,” Cha, February 2009.

“Burning Eden One Branch At A Time,” Language For A New Century, Norton, 2008.

“Departures,” “Capital,” et al. Journal for SE Asian American Education and Advancement, 2007 “Riding the 16,” “Modern Life,” St. Paul Almanac, 2007. “from five fragments” In Our Own Words, Vol. 7, 2007.

“Dream,” “Rebellions,”“Zaj,” “Ntsuag Sings the Blues,” Unplug, April/May 2007.

“Stairways In Luang Prabang,” “Nam,” “Sai Lao,” Bakka Magazine, April 2007.

“The Deep Ones,” “Before Going Feral,” Illumen, Spring 2007.

“To A Chinese Horse Behind Minneapolis Glass” Papertiger: New World Poetry, Fall/Winter “Boun,” “Jaew,” and “The National Library In Laos,” Bakka Magazine, October 2006

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“Daughters of Barrabas,” Poetry Midwest, Summer 2006 “A Question of Place” Whistling Shade, Summer 2006 “Soap,” “An Archaeology of Snow Forts,” and “Homonculus,” Tales of the Unanticipated #28 “Imperious,” “Whorl,” Hyphen Magazine #9, Summer 2006 “The Kaiju & I” 8-Poem Series, G-Fan Magazine #75, Spring 2006 “Evolve", The Outsiders Within Anthology, 2006 "To A Chinese Horse Behind Minneapolis Glass,” and "Babylon Gallery," Kaleidowhirl, Summer 2005 “A Hmong Goodbye,” Poems Niederngasse, January/February 2005 “A Few Unexpected Sights at Tuol Sleng,” Ithuriel's Spear, February 2005 “Song for a Sansei,” Big Bridge #10, February 2005 “Snakehead,” Peaks^ Literary Journal, January 2005 “The Shape,” Paj Ntaub Voice Hmong Literary Journal, Winter 2004, p. 1 "Dog Soldier Haiku," Mastodon Dentist, December 2004 “The Hermit Crab, Copacetic" and What Tomorrow Takes Away,” Pedestal Magazine, November 2004 “Poultry” Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, October 2004 "Kingdoms" Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry #28, October 2004 “Midwestern Conversations,” Out of Line, 2004 “Verbal Rorschach,” Speakeasy Magazine, September 2004 “Insomniacafe,” Real Eight View, October 2004 “The Big G,” and "Secrets" Defenestration Magazine, September 20, 2004 “Questions,”" Discoveries," and "Understanding" Banned On These Premises Exhibition, August 2004 “Democracia,” “Perspectives,” “Riding The 16,” “The Talk,” “Iai” Other Voices Int'l Poetry Project, 2004.

“Enso,” Arbutus Journal, Winter 2004 “Kobe Hotel,” and “Oni,” Big City Lit, February, 2004 “Mischief In The Heavens” Defenestration Magazine, February 2004.

“Chances,” Defenestration Magazine, January 2004.

“Today‟s Special At The Shuang Cheng,” Mid-American Poetry Review, 2004, p. 46.

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My Dinner With Cluster Bombs (The Tuk-Tuk Diaries), Unarmed Press Chapbook, 2003, 16 pp.

“A Song of Bangkok,” Cascadia Review, December 2003 “Tetragrammaton,” Stirring Journal, December 2003 “Champassak In January,” Rock Salt Plum Journal, December 2003 “Surprises In America,” London Ghetto Poets, December 2003 “Cocktail Napkins,” Muse Apprentice Guild, December 2003 “Maidens of Sivilay,” and “Phonsavan,” Mad Poets of Terra, October 2003 “Khaosan Road, 2003,” and “A Blessing Or A Curse.” Whimperbang, Oct. 2003 “Little Bear,” Astropoetica, Fall 2003 “Gallery 16: Zen of the Mouth, 2003,” Urban Pioneer #4, Vol. II., 2003, p. 11 “The Temples,” Paj Ntaub Voice, Summer 2003, p. 58 “The Spirit Catches You, And You Get Body Slammed,” Paj Ntaub Voice, Summer 2003, p. 60 “History‟s Game,” Paj Ntaub Voice, Summer 2003, p. 73 “Voices,” Urban Pioneer #2, Vol. I., 2002, p. 4 “Japonsime, Laoisme,” Asian Pacific American Journal, Winter 2003, pp. 124-126 “Genesis 2020,” Whistling Shade, Summer 2002, p. 3 “Incantation of a Hooligan,” Unarmed #31, 2002, p. 6 “The Last War Poem” Bamboo Among the Oaks, Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2002, p. 98 “Fury” Bamboo Among the Oaks, Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2002, p. 100 “Wisdom” Bamboo Among the Oaks, Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2002, pp. 101-104 “Modern Life,” Unarmed #29, 2002, p. 9 “The Serpent Under The Rainbow,” Unarmed #25, 2002, p. 3 “Futura,” Paj Ntaub Voice Hmong Literary Journal, Summer 2001, p. 14 “GPS,” Paj Ntaub Voice Hmong Literary Journal, Summer 2001, p. 17 “Quixote‟s Jihad,” Unarmed #23, 2001, p. 1 “My Autopsy, Thank You,” Journal of the Asian American Renaissance, Winter 2001, p. 26 “Half The Battle,” Journal of the Asian American Renaissance, Winter 2001, p. 45

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“Visual Silence,” Paj Ntaub Voice Hmong Literary Journal, Winter 2001, p. 1 “Fury,” Paj Ntaub Voice Hmong Literary Journal, Winter 2001, p. 45 “N‟est Ce Pas Olympus,” Whistling Shade, Winter 2001, p. 5 “Heresy To Shining See,” Unarmed #20, 2001, p. 15 “Smoke Coil 2001,” Unarmed #18, 2001, p. 4 “Naked,” Paj Ntaub Voice Hmong Literary Journal, Summer 2000, p. 60 “Writers at War,” Paj Ntaub Voice Hmong Literary Journal, Summer 2000, p. 66 “Raven Remembers,” USAF Forward Air Controller’s Website, Spring 1999

Selected Short Stories What Hides and What Returns, Historical Lovecraft, Innsmouth Free Press, 2011 A Model Apartment, Innsmouth Free Press, Issue 4, 2010 The Dog at the Camp, Tales of the Unanticipated, Autumn, 2006 The True Tale of Yer, Bamboo Among the Oaks, MN Historical Society Press, 2002 A Dream of Laaj, Paj Ntaub Voice, Vol. 7, No. 1, 2000

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Selected Performances, 2005-2011 Common Ground 1 Year Anniversary, VAALA Center, Santa Ana, CA, August 4th, 2011 Slice and Spice of Asia Storytelling, Brookdale Library, Brooklyn Center, MN, May 14th, 2011 Beyond the Pure: Writers of Color Series, Intermedia Arts, Minneapolis, MN, October 26th, 2010 Lao Artists Festival, Elgin, IL, August 20-21st, 2010 Lao American Writers Summit, Minneapolis, MN, August 15th, 2010 Twin Cities Dragon Festival, St. Paul, MN, July 11th, 2010 Family Style Open Mic, Asian Arts Initiative, Philadelphia, PA, May 21 st, 2010 Otterbein College, Westerville, OH, February 25th, 2010 Birchbark Reading Series, Birchbark Books, Minneapolis, MN, January 13th, 2010 Kulture Trust Benefit, Loft Literary Center, Minneapolis, MN, June 10 th, 2009 International Lao New Year, San Francisco, CA, April 11th, 2009 Verse and Converse, Todd Boss Poetry Series, Nina’s Café, October 1st, 2008 UCSB Diversity Lecture Series, University of Santa Barbara Multicultural Center, Santa Barbara, CA, May 20th, 2008.

Association of Asian American Studies Annual Meeting, Chicago, IL April 17-18th, 2008.

American Intercultural Center Asian-Pacific-American Heritage Festival Celebration, UW-Green Bay, April 10th, 2008.

Viterbo University, April 9th, 2008.

Rhymefest, University of California, San Diego, CA, February 12, 2008.

Un-Named Series of Hmong and Lao Writers, Loft Literary Center, Minneapolis, MN, January 23, 2007.

Giant Lizard Theater, Convergence, Minneapolis, MN, July 6, 2007.

Tripmasters: Hmong and Lao Writers on a More Global Minnesota, Normandale Community College, March 28, 2007.

Special Guest Speaker, Diversicon 14, Minneapolis, MN, August 11-13, 2006.

Giant Lizard Theater, Convergence, Minneapolis, MN, July 6, 2006.

Art And Diaspora Festival, Institute for Advanced Studies, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN, April 12, 2006.

Keynote lecture, Taste of the Mountains Hmong Cultural Night Dinner, UW-Stevens Point, December 3, 2005.

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