Bunkong Tuon

Photograph of My Wife and Me

We’re on top of Sugarloaf Mountain.
I stand behind her, hands around her waist.
The horizon burns red and yellow.
What lies beyond are fantastic dreams.
No gray in our hair, no wrinkles on dry
Skin, no dark circles under our eyes.
We don’t think about the future
Only feel that everything is possible
And what is possible must be good.
The day is sunny and bright,
Like the day before and the day after.
We steal glances at each other
When we wake up, brush our teeth,
On our way to campus, in coffee shops
All over Amherst and Northampton
While working on our dissertations.
We ride bikes. We snuggle.
Images of Pam and Jim tattooed
On our eyelids before sleep.
In this photo she is not yet my wife,
Not yet the mother of our children,
Advocating on their behalf,
Modeling for us
Strength in kindness and love,
Holding our world together.
No, she is just my girl,
My lady, my woman.
She rests her head on my chest.
I wrap my arms around her
To keep us warm, to keep
Her sweet scent with me.
There is nothing else
In the world,
Just me and her on
Top of this mountain.

 

 Bunkong Tuon is a Cambodian-American writer and critic. He is the author of Gruel, And So I Was Blessed (both published by NYQ Books), The Doctor Will Fix It (Shabda Press), and Dead Tongue (Yes Poetry). His prose and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in New York Quarterly, Copper Nickel, The Lowell Review, Massachusetts Review, The American Journal of Poetry, carte blanche, Diode Poetry Journal, Paterson Literary Review, Consequence, among others. He teaches at Union College, in Schenectady, NY.