어머니
mother
when she holds my hand
a myriad of colors
race by the in sky
like a mayfly losing time
without birthing a child
아버지
father
is it within me
to bear a man so bloodless
as the winter snow
I am too frigid to speak
avalanches of my love
Understanding Object Permanence
when I leave
does he know I will come back
when he naps and I am suddenly not there
does he wonder where I have gone
when he turns his back and walks away
will he come looking for me
when I return
does he remember who I am
when I see him out of the corner of my eye and I look to nothing
was he ever there
when we talk before waking
were our words to each other real
when he is dead and I look at his photo
is he alive again
An Ode to All that has been Forgotten
I do not blame you
I do not judge you
the sun sets in royal blue
and your mother kills your father
deep and empty
beyond the dead end
right before summer’s nest
where a happy wife equals a happy life
I cook your meal
but you are not here
only I can see the pink in the sky
I walk up and down the stairs
and it exhausts me
when I cannot tell which footstep is mine
I feel it start to rain
but the rain never comes
I pour my last glass down the sink
I do not need to work for love
Sea-Sick
Umma speaks in tongues
sings hymnals in the kitchen
washing the dishes 5 times a day
drowning in what she cannot understand
Umma, tell me before you forget
what life was like before all of this
all of him, all of me, all of us
why you cry in the morning
but laugh in your dreams
I still remember that time you held me
on the floor of our one bedroom
the spiders stared and spun love into webs after you
modeled their lives around you
when you lost your delicate finger,
your heart drew the blood
go away, you whispered
crying still, like a corpse, in bed
the air so thick, I had to claw my way out
you gave me these hands
that always find their way through the keys
you gave me this voice that shakes my soul
you gave me these tears and now I am learning how to swim
trying to stay afloat
I let the waves flood out the painful silence
waiting for you to come back
please sing me the lullaby of why you left
how I wish you could have stayed
away from all of this, all of us, all of him
Scar
There’s a scar that runs up my thigh, fading slowly. A small, black piece of metal, lodged into my skin remains.
---
Oppa and I grew up in Jamaica, Queens. We lived in a small one-bedroom apartment right along the J train, on top of a family market run by Koreans. When Umma took her time picking out the best of whatever she needed, they would sometimes give me free candy. Hubba Bubba and Chupa Chups. We were sandwiched in between the market and a pizzeria. On good days, I would run downstairs and ask the man in the window for an ice. Chocolate chip. Rainbow. Lemon. Tangerine. We would sit inside, and Umma would cut my slice into slices. Fork and knife, like a fine steak.
I figured Umma did things like that because she felt sorry or wanted to compensate for all the things she couldn’t do for me. On the weekends when my parents went off to work, Oppa and I would climb out our window to play on the rooftop — our backyard. We would take turns climbing the fence leaned against the building next to us, using the wires that ran along the brick wall as rope to pull ourselves up. We would sit on the edge of the building and watch the trains go by until sunset.
One day, we agreed to a race. Our feet scurried to the fence, and we started climbing. Side by side, we saw ourselves winning. A frenzy turned into oblivion, when the wires were yanked from my hands and I fell. Like Mufasa in the battle of the stampede and Oppa, the wicked Scar. The sharp arrows of the fence cut a gash up my thigh. I must have fell unconscious and dreamed that Oppa poured Clorox over my cut to disinfect my wound, but today he denies my allegations and claims I would be dead if they were true.