Jory Horn

I can’t seem to find my soul

Is it buried beneath the million of skulls, many tourist have traveled far to see?

Or is deeply rooted in the ancient trees, carved on temple walls, surfaced on my living body from my childhood abuse and scars?

Is it weighted like the curves and movement of a snake on sand so heavy that you could only yell out QUICK?

A wandering serpent or spirit I am

Am I a ghost?

These ancient trees keep producing seeds, showered heavily by drops of tears, only to sprout weeds

I’m waiting for the fruit of our labors to fall far from the branches and arms of ever changing ancestry

So everyone can bear witness when this foreign flower has blossom

Orientalist: buds the mouth of water

And the rivers that flow life-less streams

flow life once more

Beneath the feet that danced before me

They say apple, we say poum

We digest the colonizing voices and spit back echoes like deep caves

It ages like homemade wine from bark and herbs

Taking deep bites that seeps in the belly of my motherland

With my father’s strength and courage

Must I walk this Earth twice with flex feet?

Or do I kneel in the knee prints of those who laid before me?

For our many deities

I will step into legendary green fire to feel alive again

Burning open

Living and dying

Living and dying

Living and dying

I am reborn


Facebook via URL link:

About the author:

Jory Horn combines Cambodian culture and dance, as a means of advocacy to address challenges and celebrates the Cambodian-American community and Asian-American Diaspora at large. His guidance and mentorship of the Cambodian dance art form is a true testament of the strength and resilience of his people and survived through living dance masters Chayra Burt, Chey Chankethya, and Prumsodun Ok.