Dead History

By Zoe Bredeson, Contributor

My language is dead history

Constantly singing in mourning

listening to my grandma taking flight longing to understand

the way my mouth does jasmine rice

I parrot con thương bà nội

but cannot hope to understand what she says back

she smiles at the awkward way my lips twist and skew trying to form the name of the family dog

as he chews on the fray of my Vietnamese dress