林

I go into the forest
to meet the spirits of my ancestors

They look at the trees
instead of me

They face the gnarled bark
moving their hands as
if to smooth the knots

I too approach a faded snag
moving my hands
into the dying tree
that absorbs me gla–
cial-
ly
My arms
spindly branches
Visage withered
evergreen wind

I gasp loud
choked-up sobs
Open my hollow eyes
to see

Ancestors before me
On the soft dirt
fruits and steamed baos

They break
off my arms
to pick up the food
Stuff my tree-mouth
to stop the cry

A trio surrounds my trunk
Chitea
escaped before the Rouge
salutes with hallowed eyes
Anh trai
did not last full moon
grazes for lunar sky
Pa
stench of the living
gorges on food of mine

ξ

“林" was first published in Barrelhouse, Issue 19.

Mylo Lam (he/him) was born in Vietnam and currently lives in Los Angeles. He and his family are refugees from Cambodia. Mylo’s work has been published or is forthcoming in Barrelhouse, The Margins, MĀNOA Journal, GASHER, and elsewhere. His multimedia work won Palette Poetry’s Brush & Lyre Prize, his poetry won Blood Orange Review's Emerging Writers Contest, and his chapbook “AND NOT/AND YET” was the Editors' Choice by Quarterly West and will be published in Spring 2023.

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