Khai Q. Nguyen
YESTERDAY
Grand Manolis, Phnom Penh
A morning I opened my window
to the hustle and bustle beneath
monkeys shrieked
and at times a rooster would cluck
when memories in life pass by
in a minute, I will remember him
a traditional dancer named Rith
I will remember the salted honey taste on
his tongue, and his radiant smiles like bougainvillea in bloom
I will remember this ambered story
he would always be thirty, in corners of my mind
standing by that window with blue shutters, half naked
I would stand by my window, drinking and smoking
watching him, giving him suggesting looks
fixing my gaze
I would bathe his lithe body with my kisses
at 10 o’clock we separated
Riet threy sua s’dei: good night
I came to bed, whispering his name to sleep
already, kh’nyom sro laeng neak: I love you becomes
a harbinger of departure
we hadn’t anticipated
yesterday could extend to weeks and years
I would come back there, sitting in the warmth of the sun, watching him
I made a promise
he, standing by the window, half naked
would once again give me his winning lips
reluctant at first
enveloped in his brief shyness
the same beloved tanned limbs I once kissed
Last night I dreamt I came back to Grand Manolis
Neak neeu ti naa: where are you now?