there’s a girl named savannah
with skin red like the australian sand
her eyes hid a library of stories
in a language she didn’t understand
for the better
she was ‘half vietnamese, half australian’
later she cried, sobbing she had lied
she was ashamed running through her veins
was 40,000 years of history
and 200 years of pain
her daddy was a myth
her mama tried to hurt her
her skin marked by scars
running like rivers, breaking into streams
striking, lightening from afar
the kids were ruthless, at 11 or 12
when taunts were thrown in class
she’d gaze up at the ceiling
no, she wasn’t inspecting the smoke alarm
but stopping her hurt from showing
one morning i found myself
walking alongside her,
‘savannah’
(i don’t know why i whispered)
her name echoed, like the end of a dream
‘hey’ she replied
carrying the weight, of four thousand sleepless nights
i heard her surrendering a war
i heard her hint it’s over
i heard ‘hey’ but i heard more
