driveway. i didn't expect that from you. wasn't prepare for the weeping that would last until i cross the the state border. when i got to oakland my emotions leaked like a wildfire. they are the kind that destroy you, your security your shell. it almost killed me the home sickness the longing and anger that flawed itself into a stone in my throat. 165 days until i see you again. how many days in a semester. how long before i can go home? sometimes you need to burn everything to begin a new and here there are no science the deaths are not as severe the pure ifkification not complete. to let the natural of the sun have it's way with me.

to feel the tips of grass force through the ashes of earth the complicated earth that seechls soft at the surface and yet so deep. that is how i feel the hidden layers of hardness, liquid and flame. can anything survive at the core. must i always hold people at a distance never let them settle inside me. mother there is not enough room for me in your womb. that's why i left. to seek a home a place where i could grow. 165 miles i crieds, 165 times i missed you today. 165 meals that did not satisfy. 165 was not the number of my dorm room. 165 dollars for a 1 way ticket.

651 the area code home. >> this is a record. phone rings, a set in mother tone asks, what are you eating, how are you getting around? warns me to lock all the locks on the door. my voice plays over and over half truths with fragmented vietnamese. i don't tell her that the locks have already been locked the click, click change of chain to groove. i don't tell her about my fear. i don't tell her i can't lock out the sirens, smut and paranoia of taxi cabs. the tortured baby crying scents of yeast from the bagel shop. extremes of heat and fall and unexpected rain. i don't tell her that hearing

the weariness of her voice i can feel her flannel nightgown wet with my tierce much the smell of ponds cold cream makes me sad. how i long to wrap my arms around her warm bell e. instead i say, i'm fine. eating, taking subway. i don't tell her that today i wept over a bowel of ph o. >> 100 degrees cellsius. there is no going back you and i. like broth clouded by the blood. so this next poem is actually in the tears to me antholology.

a vietnamese woman artist, composure you name it she does it. i wonder if she bakes i never asked her but. this is a buddhist heart. each time i burned my body for you my heart remanipulained in . i watched the saffron flames engulf me seer my skin, flesh of a plum stripped of it's peel. tender and glowing like mars, i would rise to the sky for you to see me. in those moments i was your torch and we were united. united by the scents the heat the shutter. for love of another i'd say to myself, faithful in muted pain. my hope, my heart extinguishing

as you stood there paralyzed each time like a still camera unable to look away. infraction. if my love were smooth and lustrous would you spit me open and fill me up again. would you kiss the scar you made of me name it and claim me like a mountain. bear witness to holiness where 2 rocks collide. if my was unpenetrable and clear would you search your whole life destroying me just to hold me to the light? i am listening you like rain that slips through fingers missing you like childhood dreams and mother's mill ik.

like an earing under a bed. links of moon that pass. with years reflected in glass. the silver seams behind eyes. if you happen to find my love hidden in the openal of your memory, would you return my uncertainty? my last poem, i'd like to dedicate to all the people who have ever lost someone that they love. and as nancy said you get to a certain age and people start passing away. and it's kind of bizarre when you lose a parent and realize you are a member of some strange society where no one understands how you feel. i want to say this is something that i'd like to share.

inheritance. you were stubborn until the end. i felt your spirit tremor in my hand, your fears gach. the hospital room was filled with ice witnesses that denied me the last thing imented from you to lay curled with you alone once more. to be a girl again and feel the balloon of your belly rise and fall. pat your cheeks soft as apcots. hear your breathing soothe me to sleep. that day i wrapped my arms around the shirt necessary your closet still hanging i felt them fill my grieve felt them hallow in your absence much the waling never ends inside and sometimes i think i have lost you like a hat. misplaced you in the messiness of my surroundings.

you see, your stubbornness was woven into me woven into the clothes we both wore. strands that decide where we shared resistance, pushed needles. that's how i held on to you how a sewed myself to your side a seam raised into a scar at the end. thank you. thank you. [applause]

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thank you. >> thank you for applauding. never know. [laughter]. so, these next few pieces are jewish art songs the jewish art song is not something that most

people know about even if you are into classical music. raise your hand if you know shoemoner shoebert? these songs are actually in yiddish but they are art songs. they are beautiful. and they are not done. right. soy, i hope you enjoy the next few pieces. i will describe them. the first was written by [inaudible] a song that has almost nonsentence words but it's your time to be with god and your moment alone with whatever you need. i hope you appreciate this one. [music] ♪[applause]

>> thank you.

so the next piece, it's beautiful. this is yiddish a beautiful song that was given to me by george rosenside who is an amazing person. and this next piece was the same composer composed in paris and called the yiddish and a great -- it's so beautiful. yiddish the wealth of my treasure much the kreet urs -- from it's yiddish. so many true, simple and core people wandering through countries and over the world where truth -- [music] ♪

[applause] this next piece is actually, this piece and the next piece going into it actually have a really nice story about it. the next piece is very, very

well known by people who know yiddish folk songs. now, in this piece, this was said so it was classically it's not the same tune as most people know it. know the piece. so, it's very beautiful. it's a holocaust song. reach out your white hand to me. running over my words are tierce that want to rest in your hand the poetry is gorgeous. and in this piece, i was at a camp where we all learned yiddish. there was an old man and he sang not this piece but the regular version. this woman was working and said, who are you with this piece? nobody knew if he was a holocaust survivor. everyone was lored by this man who could get up and sing this

song when he was a survivor, everybody was breaking out in tears and was amazing and the next piece i had to get up and sing. what an act to follow. i will go with the piece i was going to sing anyway. this is a gypsy song. [laughter]. free to love and -- [laughter]. i'm thinking this guy is going to walk out of the room and never like me ever again. he doesn't know me but he is going to hate me and remember me as the girl when totally ruinned the moment. [laughter]. i go and you will hear in a minute after this song and he's crying. he's like crying so much that i almost was going to stop but i didn't stop. at the end me got up and

everyone was silent and he said, when i was in the concentration camp the only reason i survived is because a gypsy girl came and she would sneak me food in her apron everyday. and i was in love with her. that was the only way i got through. and he said that i looked just like her. [laughter]. worked out; right ? [laughter] think i look like this. [laughter]. and he was so inadd mirrorad with this woman when he heard me sing he was sobbing and he was hugging me. and just amazing and so i really wanted to tell you that story to put the 2 songs together for you to give you a sense of what this was like for me.

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[applause] >> so now you know --