When she was six, in nineteen sixty-eight,
VCs attacked on Chinese New Year date.
Gunfire between the VCs and GIs,
Hiding in the house, she saw with own eyes.
She was thirteen when Saigon was dying,
Staying awake, she heard rockets booming.
Pictures of the dead plastered newspaper,
Died in their sleep – families together.
On Saigon’s death, she searched for her father,
In the stream of people – on the street flowed over.
She didn’t know that he’d been captured,
At the headquarters, fighting till cornered.
She visited her Dad when aged sixteen,
High up the mountain at a jail unseen.
Mother and daughter – strangers in the North,
Heard tales of murder, bandit and so forth.