Lagerstroemia, April and I | QUANG NAM ONLINE NEWSPAPER

The house is empty like the afternoons, my mother
I carried flowers to the market and never came back, I sat
On the grass with locusts
They dream of curved rice branches

At seventeen, people light the lamps
Running along the windy riverbank
And call
Boat!

At seventeen, people admire the purple flowers
Eyes drunk like bees sucking honey
I must be seventeen now.
I sit on the broken road
I am absent-minded purple Lagerstroemia flowers

Why am I drunk like a bee sucking honey?
Why am I still attractive?
Clouds passing over the house
And the girls smell like grapefruit.