Cross Water - poem by Peauladd Huy

 

Peauladd Huy was born in Phnom Penh. She was eight when the Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia in 1975. Peauladd lives on the eastern coast of the U.S. with her family.

 

 

 

 

Cross Water

 

So much is promised by water

& the pasture is a heaven

sky and below

an easy hill burns till the last structure’s

a pile of ashes. & embers

a wounded grey, without wind & rain

to dance the fire to soot

& masks—so little is left without ash

powdered its outside. Anything more is

more than here. More than what

we can only guess what the gods thought

after you slipped past to the garden’s meadow

to toe in the calm water.

I told you the rain’s gone. & the pond’s showing root

bound along the parched edges,

where new growths come like almost all things

is almost a healing— 

Morning, a breath of wind quickens the sleepy

necks of switchgrass between desolate & blackened trees—

as random as scars

sorry on something’s made to live—

See. Eventually, the dark marks wane

graduating almost whole shadow

moonlight cast between puddles & holding light.