What’s wrong?

  He spins around, frantic.

  Everyone, stay silent!

  says another boatman.

  The canoe with Uncle Tai

  and his family sways close to ours.

  He was the one shouting.

  Uncle Tai leans out,

  speaks to Grandma in the dark.

  Why did you bring it?

  I spot one of Grandma’s bags

  in his hands.

  What is it? Dad asks in confusion.

  It seems Grandma is as surprised

  as everyone else.

  Oh? I thought I was carrying that bag.

  Uncle Tai opens the bag and whispers,

  Mom packed this!

  I see the glint

  of the ax-knife Grandma

  uses for cutting plants.

  It’s a gardening tool, but it’s sharp—

  and dangerous.

  Mom! Why would you pack that?

  Dad asks.

  Grandma wrinkles her forehead.

  For safety. For our protection.

  Mom smiles at Dad

  and my uncles and aunties

  break out in laughter.

  The boatmen shake their heads,

  continue paddling,

  and all becomes calm once again.

  Halfway

  We’re halfway across now.

  I still don’t know what to expect.

  What will happen to us?

  What will happen to me?

  Will I go to a school

  on a beautiful mountain?

  Will I go back to Laos

  ever again?

  I stare ahead and see nothing

  but ribbons of moonlight

  on the water’s surface.

  I hold Round Moon close

  and breathe in.

  The minutes seem to stop

  as we move on the river.

  Then, out of nowhere,

  one of the boatmen calls out,

  We’ve arrived!

  Climb Out

  I squint in the dark,

  try to find

  where water meets land.

  I make out lumpy black shapes

  in front of us.

  The canoes glide forward,

  and ripples cut across

  the water’s surface.

  When we’re close enough,

  Dad signals everyone

  to climb out.

  I follow the others,

  hugging Round Moon tight

  as I splash into the river,

  holding in gasps

  when the cold smashes

  above my knees,

  slapping at my skin.

  Dad pays the boatmen,

  who quickly turn

  and vanish into the night.

  We slosh to the shore,

  my heart racing faster

  than my legs can move.

  Soon the water is

  only ankle-deep

  and slushy sand moves

  into my shoes,

  between my toes.

  A warm breeze blows.

  The smell of slick mud

  and wet plants

  fills the air around me.

  We made it!

  Uncle Pao says,

  his voice quivering.

  Under the moonlight,

  Dad and all my uncles

  fall to their knees.

  That’s when I hear

  Grandma, Mom,

  and my aunties

  cry.

  Whole

  I watch my family

  celebrate our safety

  and grieve our lost country.

  Both relief and sadness

  well inside me.

  I know now

  my heart

  can break

  into pieces

  and feel whole

  at the same time.

  I turn to hide my tears

  and listen to the canoes

  paddling away

  back to Laos

  back to my country

  back to the only home

  I have ever known.

  Part IV

  Nam

  Phong Refugee

  Camp

  Khon Kaen Province, Thailand

  Stilt House

  A quiet glow in the sky

  lights the way

  from the river’s edge

  past underbrush and trees

  to a wooden structure

  in the distance.

  We get closer

  to see a tall house

  raised on stilts.

  At the window,

  an elderly man

  holding a small child

  peeks at us.

  He leans out the window,

  waves Dad forward.

  Dad and my uncles

  climb up the steps,

  knock on the door.

  The rest of us gather

  under the floor of the stilt house.

  We’re lucky Dad speaks Thai.

  He knows many languages

  because he worked with

  Noble Army officials and soldiers

  from different cultures

  who spoke different languages.

  Dad and my uncles

  talk with the elderly man.

  A few moments later,

  they return with a small bag.

  He gave us bananas

  and longans, Dad says.

  Mom and my aunties

  peel and pass the fruits out

  so we can fill our empty bellies,

  and Dad tells us what the man said.

  The Thai government

  set up camps for refugees from Laos.

  We’ll wait here until sunrise

  when a bus will come take us to a camp.

  Humid Blanket

  Under the stilt house,

  my relatives and I

  sit on the damp ground.

  By now, our clothes

  are soaked through

  with river water and rain.

  Mud is caked on our shoes.

  When the rain finally stops,

  a humid blanket

  folds around

  our sticky skin.

  I want to know more about

  where we’re going,

  but I’m too tired to think.

  I yawn and Mom takes

  Round Moon from me,

  sits beside Dad and Good Xai.

  Grandma and my relatives sit back,

  massage their tired eyes.

  As we wait for morning,

  May Ia, Yia, and I

  pick a wooden pole,

  lean against it,

  and fall asleep.

  Dirty Bus

  (May 18)

  The sound of loud, squeaky tires

  wakes me.

  My eyes flick open.

  Where am I?

  It’s raining and I’m sitting on mud,

  surrounded by my family.

  A dirty-looking bus

  is driving toward us.

  I remember now.

  We’re in Thailand.

  We left Laos.

  I sat in a canoe

  under the moon

  and tried not to cry.

  I have no idea what’s coming.

  All I know is

  I’m hungry

  tired

  homesick.

  The bus stops in the road.

  We grab our bags,

  round up the kids,

  and hurry in the rain

  to the bus.

  Watery Bugs

  Inside the bus, the air is stuffy and warm.

  Outside, raindrops tap-tap-tap

  on the windows like puffy, watery bugs.

  Overhead, the pearl-gray sky

  swirls with sticky-rice clouds.

  We’re the only people on the bus.

  The driver announces something in Thai

  and Dad interprets.

  This week the bus has already picked up

  many groups at the stop near the river border.

  Today it’s only us.

  We drive past jungles and rice paddy fields.

  Tall trees, plants, and grass

  sway in the wind and rain.

  For a second, it reminds me of home.

  I think I even spot a dog

  running in a field.

  I wonder what Ao Ka’s doing now

  at our house on the hill.

  As for Buatong, he must be

  galloping in the mountains

  with his friends.

  Yet while he knows

  to come home,

  how can he

  if Grandma’s not there

  to call his name?

  Rain Slows

  After a while, the rain slows

  until it stops completely.

  Dad stands in the aisle,

  shares more about what the man

  at the stilt house said

  about the camp.

  The camp will give us a place to

  sleep, food to eat, and provide safety

  for us until we return to Laos

  or are sent to a new country.

  A new country? Grandma asks.

  If someone sponsors us

  to go to their country,

  then we can leave the camp,

  says Uncle Tai.

  What’s a sponsor? asks Grandma.

  The sponsor is the person

  or people who will take care

  of us in the new country,

  Uncle Pao explains.

  Would we really go back to Laos?

  Mom asks what I’m thinking.

  Only when there is no more danger,

  Dad answers.

  But no one knows when that will be,

  Uncle Chue says.

  Then my aunties ask questions.

  What will the camp be like?

  Is it big or small?

  Are people already there?

  The camp used to be a training ground

  for soldiers. Any Hmong people who escaped

  from Laos would be there, says Dad.

  As they continue talking,

  I wonder how long we’ll be at this camp.

  Dad said we could go back to Laos

  when the danger is gone.

  I didn’t know going back

  was ever possible.

  But if it is, maybe we’ll only

  be in the camp for a short time,

  then we can return home.

  We can actually go back home!

  I smile at that thought

  even though deep down,

  I don’t know if it’s true.

  Refugee

  Dad comes to sit beside

  Round Moon and me.

  He rubs sleep from his eyes

  and wipes sweat from his forehead.

  The other adults are still talking.

  Mom’s close by,

  but if I speak softly,

  she might not hear me

  and all my questions.

  Dad, what’s a refugee?

  I whisper.

  Someone who has lost their home,

  who must leave their country

  because it isn’t safe for them to stay.

  Is that what we are now?

  Yes.

  Will we be okay?

  We’ll make the best of it.

  Can peaches grow in the camp?

  No one knows I have peach seeds.

  I don’t know if we can plant peaches at the camp.

  But to grow, peach trees need good sunlight,

  good soil, and enough water.

  Other trees around them

  help them grow better too.

  Like at home?

  Exactly.

  Will we ever go home again?

  Maybe someday.

  Do you want to?

  I nod.

  Me too.

  Imagine

  Dad naps while I imagine

  this camp we’re going to.

  He said it was a training ground for soldiers,

  but I pretend it’s something else,

  something better.

  Maybe when we get there,

  we’ll stay in a house on a hill,

  just like our house.

  Or we might be in an apartment

  in a tall building with nice windows

  and bright lights.

  If the general and other leaders are there,

  they could be living in big houses.

  For sure their houses

  would have fancy gates and gardens

  with pretty flowers.

  That’s what houses of important people

  usually look like.

  Now that I think about it,

  our house could have gates

  and a garden too.

  We might even have peach trees.

  I picture grand gardens

  with perfect peach trees.

  I know I’m only dreaming,

  but my heart begins to feel

  a little less heavy.

  Right Away

  When the bus arrives

  at the camp,

  I see right away—

  there is a gate,

  but it’s not fancy or white.

  It’s a barbed wire fence.

  There is no garden

  with pretty flowers,

  no peach trees.

  Only dry, dusty ground.

  There are no big houses

  or tall apartment buildings

  with nice windows

  or bright lights.

  Only small, square buildings

  with one floor.

  Camp Director

  Specks of dust float

  in the heat rising from the dirt road.

  Now I know why the bus is so dirty.

  A row of green army tents forms a line

  next to the square buildings.

  Army jeeps and trucks

  are parked in a dirt lot nearby.

  I see soldiers guarding the fence

  like they’re blocking the way out,

  like they’re trapping us inside.

  The driver pulls to a stop

  and opens the bus doors.

  Heat blasts at our faces

  as we follow Dad off the steps.

  Outside, Mom takes Round Moon

  and gives me Good Xai.

  I lift her to my back for a piggyback ride.

  I notice a big sign

  near the front entrance,

  but the words are in Thai.

  I can’t read them.

  A Thai soldier walks up then

  and says something to Dad.

  Dad tells us to wait by the bus.

  We stay there until a tall man approaches.

  His hair is so thick and frizzy

  it looks like a puffy hat.

  Behind him and his hat of hair,

  I spot crowds near the trees.

  The tall man talks with a deep voice

  that sounds like the croaking toads

  by the stream where I used to get water

  every morning.

  Dad tells us what the croaky man says.

  This is the camp director.

  He wants to give us a tour.

  Disappointed

  The director walks with wide steps

  that seem more like hops.

  We follow him, and Dad interprets.

  This is the main office of the camp.

  Next to the office is a small store that sells

  candy, drinks, milk, shampoo, toothpaste, and so on.

  Beside the store is the camp hospital,

  which has doctors, nurses, and a pharmacy.

  We pass a building with two

  huge water tanks outside

  that look like giant spiders.

  Public restrooms and showers are there.

  He shows us the tents next.

  Families sleep here.

  He turns toward the trees

  and points at the building nearby.

  And that’s the cafeteria, where you eat.

  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are provided there.

  The director ends the tour,

  hopping back to the camp office.

  I sigh, disappointed.

  There was no school on the tour.

  Like Me

  I see mothers and fathers,

  big and small children,

  teenagers and babies,

  young and old aunties and uncles,

  and elderly grandparents.

  People with messy hair

  wearing messy clothes

  watching us with tired eyes.

  People who look like

  they’re in need of food,

  water, sleep.

  Like me.

  I try not to stare at them

  as another soldier joins us,

  this time speaking Lao.

  He’s talking fast, but I catch

  what he’s saying.

  We’ve run out of tents for families.

  You’ll need to wait until we find space.

  Now it’s time to get in line for lunch.

  Blazing Sun

  Under the blazing sun,

  we wait in a long line

  heading to the cafeteria.

  There’s no shade

  to give us any cover.

  A breeze that feels like air

  rolling off the surface of boiling