I hear Boeung Kak has now been filled
with gritty sand, turned mud, now earth.
The lake’s become a dusty field,
yet memory preserves a berth

for fishermen in long canoes,
just toothpicks seen from on the dock,
and sun-dark boys—no use for shoes—
who paddled daily on Boeung Kak.

The morning glory crops live on,
as do the lotuses and lilies
that wafted passively upon
the water like the fishers’ village.

My ears still clearly ascertain
the rain that pounded its applause
upon the surface of the lake
before lost to the city’s jaws.

 

 

James Christy received a Bachelor of Arts in English from Northern Arizona University. His work appears in 101 Words and Heart of Poets Foundation.


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