The Black Fist
clenched in defiance,
Rebellion.
In contrast to the object’s purpose:
To neaten, to clean up appearances
To conform to what society,
Wants
Wants to see
Wants to observe
Wants to believe
But no, it does not conform
The object has a mind of its own.
Becoming a symbol of
Race
Culture
Defiance
Like the fist it shows.
Nainai said she killed people in this house
Two of her own children,
One was missing a scoop of porridge in his bowl,
One was missing a layer of cotton in his jacket.
They said: “Ma, when we grow up we will build you a big big house,”
“Everyone has their own room” “and two extra rooms”
“Filled with golden manto” “And swan-feather blankets!”
“And peanuts!”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Her own father,
Who one night swallowed twenty extra sleeping pills,
Laid still.
He said: “When you found your love I’ll build you a big new house,
I live in this one, across the street.
So when I make something good, you can get a bowl before it gets cold.”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Her own husband,
Who had personality of flame–selfless, no fear.
He stepped out of the door in his neatly ironed uniform, his back to her.
So far, so near.
He said “The country is a big house, it is my duty, my purpose,
To guard when enemy arise! I promise,
When the country is secured, I will return, and I will never leave your side.”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Herself,
The survivor of the chaos, but her soul defeated.
In her hollow shell she had to face the samely hollow,
Collapsing house, unchanged.
She said: “Yujia, next year when you come back to me.
I’ll teach you to build a house.”
Remember, she said, to watch,
to watch for their every move
as if you are the predator
And you have to be brave
I keep my eyes clear,
my eyes straight
not letting a whisper blow past
And breathing with a freight
My prey looks back at me,
As I carefully switch a piece
Not slowing down Or wanting to cease
As the pieces moved back and forth
The game seemed to never end
Until the King is trapped
And no longer has a friend
A world of color floods leaking eyes
Glossed over by salty tears
That cut canals in his rosy cheeks
Crying due to his now flowering lungs in use for the first
time
Hands clenched together
Mother’s fostering hands tremor above the unseen halo
Tender care given to every movement
Worshipping her new found child of god
A world of war floods leaking eyes
Glossed over with dusty air
Premature due to malnourishment
Above deteriorating beams echoing an infant’s
shrieks
Family gathered in a covering
As a graduating hum of a Gloster SS.37
engine overhead gives them bumps across
their skeletal arms
Mother’s hands push it away
She does not want to know the gender
In her stolid eyes, it is not hers
Unprepared, unwanted, unloved
Family leaves, same size as when entered
Mother slumped over, exhausted, her pain is
also in the heart
Cold wind gusts, broken wings, impeding hums
Broken cries that will remain unattended
Till its death
One birth, contrasts the other
One out of love, one left behind
One baby will be loved and nurtured as it should be
The other will die within days, abandoned
The fog surges,
the sunrise awaits.
Complete serenity,
Rain, clarity
Yearning a shift.
The vapor cascades down,
Warmth, lucidity
a place
home to a dove.
Enchanting,
Captivating
Enduring the luminosity,
letting yourself immerse,
through the fog
the rain
The city of eternal spring.
Till nightfall,
and sunset
when the city becomes viable.
Light surges from the mountains,
overlooking the beacon
Sending the reek of death beyond
the enchantment
at the cusp of your fingers
Medellin
A shocking paradise
Where dark meets outstanding light.
Acquires a feeling of intimacy
Everyone ecstatic,
Joyful
content
Lights glowing
Water glistening
enchantment
Colombia.
Before you were born, you were the thought of fear about the future. Before you were born, you were a
mistake, an accident, and now a problem. Before you were born, your parents were working on a farm,
picking vegetables, and growing rice. You were living on a farm, hours outside of the city, up on a
mountain, in a tiny village. Before you were born, your parents worried about providing food for
themselves. You were a pea-sized fetus, undernourished, and under-developed growing each day.
Before you were born, you were the joy that brought a smile to your mother’s face, but tears, to your
fathers eyes. Before you were born, you were the fear of not getting the future you deserve. You were the
thought that your parents could not provide a life for you. Before you were born, you were the thought that
living somewhere else, becoming a new person, and having new parents would be the best option. The
only option.
Pitter patter,
Pitter patter:
The soft tap of rain down the car windows
Accompanies this sticky summer Saturday of June.
Soon Mom turns left off of Cedar Street and
Pulls into a clearing enveloped by pine trees,
Five, ten miles from the nearest supermarket.
A site so secluded even the GPS
Can’t seem to find it;
A place almost abandoned with
Soiled showers and murmuring mosquitoes;
A sector hidden from plain sight
Silent because we are the only ones there.
But our annual trip still
Sparks joy in my mind,
A thrill of adventure down my spine.
As night creeps into the open ceiling and
Paints the sky a deep sapphire blue,
Stars twinkle like tiny diamonds;
Telling stories in the blank canvas of the dark
As we tell stories of our own around a crackling fire.
Knowing the trip will be over too soon, too early
We gently toast marshmallows until just barely charred,
Savoring the sweet essence of simply being.
Seven thousand miles and more away Distant from my mind Lies that which I used to call home Alas now, my memory faded.
Though still, I remember the cacophony of harsh sounds, the myriad of car horns ever so rambunctious, frightening, yet so vital, contributing to the atmosphere, the life of the city.
The bustling noise of the crowd. Sound passes through my head, the language is foreign, only to be drowned out by, the roaring firecrackers, scaring evil spirits away.
Much now have I forgotten, but still I’ve yet to forget, the ravenous crackling fire, as it devoured joss paper,
the vibrant fireworks, soaring towards the heavens, radiating vivid colors to bleak, dreary night skies. As if a brush to a canvas, an explosion of beauty.
So close and yet so far, out of grasp, but still within my heart, mind, soul, within me remain fleeting memories serving to remind me, of a beloved location. Seven thousand miles and more away.
The “Healthy Fast Food” The Mexican-American Place The Craved Restaurant Huge Burrito Restaurant
Oh Chipotle, you put a smile on my face when I am down I can always rely on you to keep me sane The familiar flavorable taste overwhelms me and I crave you Just like the first time we met Every bite I take fills me with delight Even at the end, when there is just a sad piece aluminum foil left I can still taste the flavors on my tougue I know you are not gone, Just waiting for my return
The “fake” Mexican restaurant Most expensive fast food Food Poisoning Food The used to be favorite in America
But Chipotle, I know that you’ve hurt people too Hurt them with your flavors With your sometimes bad facilities Your sometimes bad guacomole Made them not trust you Please apologize And fix your ways Otherwise I’ll be scared You might hurt me too
But Chipotle, Don’t get me wrong I still love you I love biting into that mixture of Rice, cheese, salsa, Different mixture everytime
Because Chipotle I can never get over you
Land of the free
They say
But people are more chained
Home of the brave
They say
But people are still afraid
This paradoxical paradigm
Compels me
To escape
So I board
The aircraft
“Welcome to Korea”
The root of my kinfolk
Significance of origin
Weight of my history
They flood
the inner workings
Of my soul.
An experience
not welcomed
back home
An invitation
Granted
Mere steps down
The diamonds of heritage
Embezzled in
the very land
Of which you feel
With the soles of your feet.
Eat
of the food.
Speak
with your people.
And remember,
Your identity.