Afraid her sister (and maybe even herself) could lose sight of their Vietnamese identity, twelve-year-old Bom writes a poetic memoir to help them both remember--a love letter in verse to sisterhood and the places we leave behind.

Afraid her sister (and maybe even herself) could lose sight of their Vietnamese identity, twelve-year-old Bom writes a poetic memoir to help them both remember--a love letter in verse to sisterhood and the places we leave behind.

Bom can't believe that her sister doesn't see herself as Vietnamese, only American. She says she doesn't remember Vietnam or their lives there, their family there, their house and friends. How could her sister forget the terrible journey through Saigon and the airplanes and... everything?

And what about Bom? She remembers now, but how long will she keep her memories? She always found comfort in the sound of her father's typewriter Clickity-clack, clickity-clack. So she has an idea. She'll write down all that she can remember: the time when her father was a spy, when her mother was nicknamed a "radio," when they were so hungry Bom couldn't walk well, when the family all said goodbye.

Bom will even tell her sister, and herself, about what it was like moving to Tennessee. The ESL classes, bullies, strange new foods, icy weather, friendships, and crushes--and how her family worked to keep their heritage alive.

She'll type one poem at a time, until they'll never forget again.