Sometimes I ask my mother to tell me a story; She tells the same one every time. And every time I listen

My mother grew up in a war. While her parents had it all, This war threatened her future, Along with her siblings’ future.

It was her parents’ choice to leave Vietnam, The home of their ancestors Following the war. Not for their own sake, But for their children’s.

So one night, when the moon was high And the tide with it, my grandfather Left the house with the eldest son To go to the docks. They sneaked through the town, Vigilant as the thief from the police.

Soon after, my grandmother followed suit, Dragging along the rest of the family; Departing from her husband to Lower suspicion that would have arisen At a family of six traveling together.

Then they all met up at the docks, A rugged, old little wooden platform that Stood over the water; looking as if The slightest wind would topple it.

In a group of sixty they met, The frightened Vietnamese civilians. Some of them friends, some strangers, and some enemies, But all wanting a better life Than what Vietnam could offer

A group of smugglers greeted them, Hardy men bearing guns and wearing hoods, Demanding ridiculous payment for their services In whispered curses of Vietnamese.

One by one, the families paid their every cent, Morphing from successful Vietnamese Doctors, Lawyers, and Businessmen To poor, frightened fugitives.

They were let on a single boat That rocked in the wind And creaked with the rhythm of the sea.

Weary and reluctant to leave, My grandfather asked a smuggler In hushed tones, “Where exactly are we going?”

“Away” was the only answer.

With the low groans of the motors And the whispered prayers of the passengers, My mother’s overcrowded boat Silently drifted out to sea,

Into the obscure future That would either consist of death Or salvation.

The following times Were the worst of her life, My mother tells me.

The cold wind and the merciless ocean Rocked the lonely boat constantly; The smells of fresh puke filled the air, As seasickness took its toll.

Days passed, food ran out. Inhuman odors began to fester Due to the accumulation of human waste.

The hot tropical sun Beat down on the boat in the day, While the chilled winds and icy ocean Ravaged the passengers in the night.

Babies cried of discomfort, Children wailed of thirst. Mothers lamented for the seemingly Inevitable prospect of death at sea, Terrified for the fate of their children.

And all the while, The boat kept rocking, Barely holding itself upright Against the constant hammering of the sea