It is the dead who keep
Whispering into our hearts,
Paint visions into our souls.
They know it's their time.
Their time to finally rest,
Leaving the living to struggle on
With the memories of all that
We cannot rightly place to rest.
— Son Dao
(Tomorrow, April 30 will mark 39 years since me and my extended family fled Saigon at the end of the Vietnam-American war).
