“ 再见, Sweet Asian Sister “

再见, sweet Asian sister.
I’ve loved your laugh and your crowded hallways for as long as I can remember 
But it is your lands the people love, not mine
Your rice is not my rice
Your tongue is not my tongue
It is your festivals they celebrate 
It is you they call “Asian.”
总是月亮, មិនដែលជួបព្រះអាទិត្យ.
I am an angel trying to fix my wings 
But you— they lift you higher and higher on a podium carved from their sweat and tears
They worship your neon dynasties, and fill their heads with trends they don’t want to understand
Do they drink from the Mekong or the Huangpu?
Either way, my river still runs dry.
We live beneath the same sun, sister,
Yet yours is the one they flock to for warmth;
I don’t know how to tell you 再见
Because I have never known how to say លាហើយ 
And the borders you draw in the sand do their job too well
The wind tearing my protests away,
Leaving my skies barren 
In order to cool yours.