Bryan Thao Worra
In a lifetime of writing I see there is still so much left to say. I consider this fellowship not only a personal joy but a true community milestone. I gladly continue my work presenting the dreams of my fellow refugees and our contributions to the great American tapestry.
I have been fortunate in my life to meet so many whose lives were changed at the deepest level by my work. So I continue. I know how much difference even a single word, a single sentence can make in a life. My eye gratefully appraises a dizzying world of the expressed seeking to convey the inexpressible. And occasionally, a great poem comes out of all this. That's a poet's path. That is my path.
There are stories and poems I can't wait to share with you all in celebration of our journey together. Change is possible only through the free expression of the many voices of a diverse people. It is one of the true joys of life.
I thank the National Endowment for the Arts for their support of my writing and their commitment to encouraging dialogues celebrating the creative spirit. I hope scientists and politicians, preachers and the wise, our paupers and teachers, students and families can each realize in their own ways the deep artistry of the world and all creation.
In turn, I recognize those who gave so much around the world to bring us to this point. Some names we know, so many we do not. I thank those voices, those souls, and add my own to our collective story of freedom and dreamers.
And to those who come upon these words of mine: Write. Create. Add your voice to this magnificent tale.
Khop Jai For Nothing, Farangs
The bomb popped in his face
While he was digging a fire pit
For his family squatting
On the old mercenary camp
In Xieng Khouang province
So notorious for its UXO.
"They live there for the American plumbing,"
Our host said flatly,
Watching volleyball games by the airstrip.
This was wholly routine.
The ruined grounds were frozen.
Explosives, dormant blooms below
Can be mistaken for ice and rock easily.
And he screamed
The whole time as we loaded
Him into the back of our rickety plane
To Vientiane that
Lao Aviation picked up from
The Russians when everyone
Thought the Cold War
Was going somewhere.
The California girl on holiday
Was aghast and found it
What a pall on her search for highs.
In Wat Inpeng,
A monk named Souk
"We really hate hippies."