The 2019 John Marsden & Hachette Australia Prize Poetry - Quang Mai

Quang Mai's poem Rememory has been awarded The 2019 John Marsden & Hachette Australia Prize for Young Writers in the category of poetry. Quang was presented with the award at the 2019 Melbourne Writers Festival at a special event, and wins a $500 cash prize, an exclusive book pack from Hachette Australia and acknowledgement of their winning entry in Express Media’s flagship publication Voiceworks. Read Quang's winning piece right here.

Rememory

i.            Before:The days have expired a long timeago & I remember yougave me an answer under that browning nightof March, an answerabout how should we be. The thinning of cloudslooked like a buzzcut season & syllablesentered. The resuming of it all. I kept onpinching my hands to remind myselfof your charcoaled hair, our rottenteeth. They looked just like orphans, readyto fall onto this quiet ground. That I askedmy body, over & over again. Weare still alive, aren’t we? Why are we alive?Where are we, dear? Where are we?Again, I rememberus carrying the burialof this country on our backs. Remember the warblackening our mouths with silence& dirt. There are, heavily,many things that I remember,sweetheart. Time like liquor, like echoes& the day bruised bluewith chemistry. Remind me all that –How a farm-girl & a soldier were alwayshand in hand, towards the wreckagethat made us. Childrenof crushed tomorrows. Hand in handtowards the napalms, sharpening the skywith their all American beauty & gloryHand in hand towardstoday, I look at the photo& believe in my ‘will’, your ‘can’.ii.          After:1. How do you feel grandma?Every bruise has mass. This applies for us also, let’s call it the theory of grief. Theconservation of hurt.2. What do you see, now & then?Bruise-grey sky, fur-smooth hours. And oh yes, the leaves swelling, beaden with light.3. Your mother?I used to wear her ‘please Lord’ like a beggar. Always on her collarbone, there wasanother God sitting, opening his throat – always, an answer.4. What’s left of the war? What’s left to tell, your legacy?Two hands. Our barb-wired hearts. And home, the shape of our people.(she suddenly stills, then proceeds)Don’t you know? The word wound in Vietnamese translates into vết thương or a lovingtrace, which is to say our bodies are a thing to tender into, when carved in loose tissues.Ah no, afraid not dear, look at me can you look at all this beauty, my body a museum ofhurt.5. About grandad?I remember him, the exactness, the measured dawn. A farm-girl & a soldier are supposedto be the ending, no matter how many endings there are. Isn't it?He’s there, isn’t he?Here always, isn’t he?6. And what’s the price of carrying this much blood?(pause)To live(a blank)& to live.