A postmodern retelling of Vietnam's creation myth.
~ À oi, à oi
Hush baby, sleep baby
Know your roots
À oi, à oi
11:48pm, tù du hospital/ the mountain fairy moans/ is prostrate on the bed/ her bulbous abdomen rises/ falls/ mirrors oscillation between each electrical crest and trough/ green, fluorescent, [beep beep beep] on the blank monitor/ gazes, nonchalant, as her clay-molded legs swell to the size of two cainito trunks/ brimming with sap and milk.
we all know what she’s here for/ instinctively, she draws one hand up to her belly, while the other/ lies limp on her pelvis.
but it starts wriggling now/ her knotweed eyes bulge in their sockets as sweat, thick and raw, crawls on her spine/ the mountain fairy jerks back her head of soot-colored hair/ digs nails into shin and canines into lower lip/ viscous crimson droplets trickle down ochre skin/ she counts cracks on the ceiling/ breathes in, breathes out/ each time, they loom larger/ criss-crossed cement gashes spelling out hòng and hà, then sóng, then chét, again and again /chét/ the mountain fairy screams/ feels movements inside her, emanating from this thing/ alien/ not alien/ herself/ not herself/ life tumor writhing between bones/ she/ sweet ripe peach flesh, while it is the seed/ stubborn, rough-edged.
In the deep deep forest
four chiliads ago,
mountain fairy gave birth
to a hundred-egg sac
from whence sprang
a hundred children
ready darling/ ready/ eat me/ come out/ feast upon my latent stream of sap.
the nurse looks at her/ nods, you are shrinking every five minutes/ it is expanding/ lo/ behold/ from her opening slithers a translucent sac the size of a fist, slimey and vagina-smelling/ it crawls onto the floor/ paints linoleum red with placental blood/ drip, drop on white linen/ snuggles up in the fairy’s hand/ no head, no body, no limbs, though if you look closely enough, detach carbonate from plastic/ you might be able to count/ 100 eggs.
cracked/ a hole /ripped vitelline duct/ eggs open umbilical mouths/ sing back.
À oi, à oi
Hush fairy, sleep fairy… ~