Becoming Ghost (1)

I unhook the photograph

from its nail,

needle the aperture

& find my youth

history, a washout

of dieting & wedding cake.

In those days,

I dreamt less

of a private bed chamber

and more a future

without smoke.

I sleep on this slab of a bed

in the town of Baler,

in an elementary

schoolhouse rented out.

Coppola asks

that I execute

a facsimile

of an adjacent life––

What a relief

to play the enemy

and to find her

a frightened 22 year old

shooting at a UH1 Huey.

Revenge foretells my living

well. In those days,

I was frugal with words,

opting to hide them instead

like gold poured

into a molar,

or cotton gauze

stuffed into a cheek

to stave off

the rattle

bitten into

my gums.

Cathy Linh Che