TỪ CÔNG ĐOAN TRANG

dutule.com: Từ Công Đoan Trang là ái nữ của nhạc sĩ Từ Công Phụng.

Cô sở trường về thơ xuôi. Những bài thơ xuôi của Từ Công Đoan Trang cho thấy cô có khả năng sử dụng kỹ thuật ẩn dụ / metaphor trong thi ca một cách nhuần nhuyễn.

Sự kiện này khiến một vài người làm thơ và, có hiểu biết về kỹ thuật thi ca, đã đi tới kết luận:

“Từ Công Đoan Trang sẽ còn đi rất xa trong lãnh vực thi ca, viết thẳng bằng Anh ngữ.” 
dutule.com xin giới thiệu một bài thơ xuôi của Từ Công Đoan Trang, cùng với giọng đọc thơ của chính cô.

 I'm getting on the road, I've got 2 suitcases and my older brother to take the trip up north, up the 5 to Oregon, where we will watch the cancer as it makes a home in our father's body.

My brother has the same smile as the one in the picture from when he was his only son's age. the one that was never framed, the one that floated around, a small kodak print on the kitchen table... then it was on the mantle... in the glove compartment of the Oldsmobile.. finally on the top of the stack of sheet music on the piano...Shy, inquisitive, infectious. That smile almost asked permission to touch you.

I imagine that once were there, our mother will cry less and shuffle her papers more and busy herself with plans for which we are certain we're part of.
We were often told that everything they have ever made, hoped, fixed, prayed, bought, kept, retrofitted, scraped and salvaged was all for us... Until now, that all seemed like a time far off, a time when I'd have a little gray in my hair, a time when the world was ready to end anyway, a time when California was ready to break off into the sea.

The trip will take 10 hours, I'm thinking of the things I will say to fill the space and deflate the elephant in the small silver sedan. We'll talk about his children I'm sure, about my mother's erratic behavior. He'll make a joke or two, then there will be an hour or so of silence, then he'll stop at a rest area and we will both think of the countless road trips with our father, the quarters he gave us to pay for hot chocolate and donut holes at each rest stop.

I'll think long and hard about the day after we arrive, about the chemo and how it does everything and nothing to help. I'll cry into my right shoulder, my head resting on the passenger window. I'll look over at my father's son, and he will smile and I'll say, "yes, permission granted."