Bunkong Tuon
Bio:
Bunkong Tuon is a Cambodian-American writer, critic, and teacher. Born several years before the Khmer Rouge takeover in Cambodia, he left in 1979 moving to Thailand-Cambodia, where he spent several years in refugee camps. In 1982, he immigrated to the United States.
He is the author of three poetry collections: Gruel (NYQ Books, 2015), And So I Was Blessed (NYQ Books, 2017), and The Doctor Will Fix It (Shabda Press, 2019). His poetry recently won the 2019 Nasiona Nonfiction Poetry Prize. He teaches at Union College in Schenectady, NY. You can follow him on Twitter @BunkongTuon.
He is the author of three poetry collections: Gruel (NYQ Books, 2015), And So I Was Blessed (NYQ Books, 2017), and The Doctor Will Fix It (Shabda Press, 2019). His poetry recently won the 2019 Nasiona Nonfiction Poetry Prize. He teaches at Union College in Schenectady, NY. You can follow him on Twitter @BunkongTuon.
Storytime
The clouds hang low in the sky.My daughter turns away and cries.
Her face deep in the soft white pillow, Her hair like weeping willow.
She learned about slavery that morning.Now she’s deep in mourning.
In the reenactment video, a boy’s torn awayFrom his family. My daughter says,
“Will someone take our Nicky away?”My wife glances at me, then says.
“No one will take your brother away.”
But I know nothing could stop the breaking. I remember when Cambodia was at war
With itself. My uncle was taken away.My mother died from hunger,
My father from heartbreak.I never knew my half-brothers.
Out the window I could see Clouds move like distant ships
To reveal what’s always there:The blood-thirsty orange moon.
Her face deep in the soft white pillow, Her hair like weeping willow.
She learned about slavery that morning.Now she’s deep in mourning.
In the reenactment video, a boy’s torn awayFrom his family. My daughter says,
“Will someone take our Nicky away?”My wife glances at me, then says.
“No one will take your brother away.”
But I know nothing could stop the breaking. I remember when Cambodia was at war
With itself. My uncle was taken away.My mother died from hunger,
My father from heartbreak.I never knew my half-brothers.
Out the window I could see Clouds move like distant ships
To reveal what’s always there:The blood-thirsty orange moon.