Not My White Savior Read online

  recipe handed down for generations

  it lives only in your heart

  your nose curves like mine

  you move on

  customers wait ten deep

  Your soju smile greets me

  bow as I enter your Sinchon restaurant

  laugh at my survival Korean

  nod as I point to steaming dishes

  on nearby tables

  tear up as you watch

  another adoptee television reunion

  remember your sent away children

  You ask if I’m Japanese

  as I browse your Insadong gift shop

  I ask in Korean

  if you are Japanese

  I tell you I’m adopted

  discomfort traces your face

  you bear the guilt

  of an entire nation

  We enter your Koreatown tofu shop

  you ask How many? in Korean

  switch to English

  when you hear us speak

  you assume I’m kyopo

  I explain I was adopted

  Aigu is all you can say

  hand me a menu

  walk away

  The Map of My Body

  Feet, what do I need you for

  when I have wings to fly?

  —Frida Kahlo

  On the map of my body

  live colonial scars

  seared into memory by war

  carried into the next millennium

  by discarded children

  to cities of my unknown history

  Marked for abandonment in Daejeon

  wounds pierced me while in the womb

  wounds that would not heal

  as my body traveled north to Seoul

  passed through the Pacific

  Returned to the nation that gifted me these scars

  I bare them to Korean media, taxi drivers, ministers

  the scent of magnolias, cherry blossoms

  soothe my pain

  like a sauna

  on a cold, wintry day

  Korea marked my inner thigh

  with the only clue on this treasure map

  twenty stiches crisscross my face

  glass slices fingers, arms

  Each unknown step

  in this occupied territory

  Lifts me to flight

  Across the Han River

  Down to Cheju Island

  to the top of Halla Mountain

  My body is testimony to an erased history

  history banned from museums

  Absent from textbooks

  Unknown to a new generation

  A history we imprint on this nation that sent us away

  a sealed tattoo longer than the Olympic Bridge

  Higher than the 63 Building

  Older than Confucianism

  Every citizen sent away

  Another missing chapter

  Another wound on my body

  Another stain on this nation’s history.

  Cousinland

  thank you Eric S. for this word in the Koroot kitchen

  Far, far away

  somewhere East of East

  sits the Korean peninsula

  Land of the Morning Calm

  airfare exceeds my bank account

  this is not my motherland

  this is my Cousinland

  Familiar airport lobby stranger greets me

  holds my English scrawled name

  the welcome I’ve always wanted

  tonight I want to run away

  pretend I don’t see him

  this is my Cousinland

  Who are these adopted Koreans?

  Asian, black hair, almond-shaped eyes

  English speakers

  Australian, European, US passports

  we sound not how we look

  How do I eat this food I can’t pronounce?

  fried egg tops rice

  hot stone pot holds vegetables

  red chili paste decorates

  like cake icing

  foreign spicy taste

  What is this unshapely dress?

  lost beauty, tradition

  how to wear a hanbok?

  tie the otkorum?

  how do I pronounce otkurum?

  this is my Cousinland

  June humidity begs summer apparel

  Korean society won’t tolerate

  my sleeveless dress

  women’s beauty shamed

  Olympics, World Cup

  provide survival English

  language of origin expected

  impossible to my tongue, ears

  heart blocks vocabulary

  alphabet haunts

  Why is your last name Smith?

  Are you married?

  Are you Japanese?

  Why don’t you speak Korean?

  Are you kyopo?

  Are you an original Korean?

  Are you Chinese?

  Why don’t you speak Korean?

  This is my Cousinland!

  What Language Do You Dream In?

  Do you dream in a language you know?

  a language you’re expected to know?

  or is that a nightmare?

  This language’s silence

  prohibits dream translation

  into syllables of reality

  dreams conjugate nightmares

  where language tortures

  oppresses, belittles

  language takes life

  deletes breath

  silences you

  powerless child

  Language is music

  you lack fluency

  in this mother tongue

  music is noise

  clanging symbols

  midnight car alarms

  Cousin tongue

  imbalances music library

  cousin language of origin

  silenced three decades strong

  tongue eternally trips

  over instinctive sounds

  unless you wake up

  from this eternal nightmare

  The Words Don’t Fit in My Brain

  The Words Don’t Fit in My Mouth

  —Jessica Care Moore

  Language feels like sandpaper skin

  sounds like chalkboard fingernails

  tastes like moldy whole grain vinegar-soaked bread

  stale soju

  smells like New Year’s Eve Times Square

  First language I knew

  heard from my mother’s womb

  subway conversations eavesdropped

  students’ gossip

  hear doctors, agency workers

  coerce my relinquishment

  Forever lost language

  white colonizers stole

  unfound hide and seek

  literary maze

  dumbfounded mother tongue

  Subtitles evaporate

  Korean dramas overtime

  rewind, repeat bad translation

  glimpse body language

  forced to watch bad

  Korean movies

  each film

  one syllable closer

  to fluency

  Fifteen years tutored

  language partners exchange

  more English

  than Korean

  Level 1 stuck

  Return to Start

  my body tries to speak

  words my brain cannot

  language snatched,

  ch
oked from my life

  lost luggage left

  at Kimpo airport

  The words don’t fit in my brain

  like A4 paper

  won’t fit in letter-size folders

  my life lost in translation

  twisted tongue

  trips over Korean alphabet

  the words don’t fit in my brain

  but they fit in my heart

  Homeland Insecurities

  he asks in French-accented Korean

  I reply, unsure if I’ve answered his question

  Where are you going?

  I’m going home

  I’m going to Haebangchon to my third-story,

  five hundred–square-foot apartment

  it’s where I sleep, receive my mail, store three, overweight pieces of luggage

  how can I feel at home when I am harassed by every dick-toting non-Korean I pass on the street?

  if it isn’t me they’re harassing it’s another Korean

  the difference?

  these assholes

  understand my back-lashing tongue

  defend in angry, fluent English

  I tell them to go back to where they came from

  this is not my home

  this neighborhood which is likened to a ghetto

  or the projects

  no. these words are too kind

  slum? no

  cesspool?

  yes, I live in a cesspool

  I’m going to America

  Minnesota

  this is where I grew up

  hold citizenship

  registered to vote

  own property

  received my passport

  the Land of ten thousand Adopted Koreans!

  I should feel at home

  a multitude of Asian faces

  yet our paths rarely crossed

  my childhood home

  surrounded on three sides

  by farm fields

  it is here I’m told

  to go back to where I came from

  explains my urge

  to run away from home

  I want to run

  to something that feels like home

  America is not my home

  Living in Korea

  I did not feel like I belong in America more

  nor like I belong in Korea more

  it only made me feel

  that I belong everywhere

  less

  as I begin to explain this

  he barely lets me finish

  by stating he too

  feels the same

  he understands

  I don’t need to explain

  Where is home for you?

  how could Korea be my homeland

  when I couldn’t even find it on a map?

  North Korea? South Korea?

  what about West and East Korea?

  Where is home for you?

  instead of sounding

  like a list of place names

  memorized for a junior high geography quiz

  her reply sounds more like a melody

  Home is wherever my sisters are

  wherever my sisters are

  Home is wherever my two hundred thousand

  Korean brothers and sisters

  are scattered around the globe

  three continents

  thirty countries

  Home is in Amsterdam

  we stroll canals

  Van Gogh museum

  Red Light district

  Home is in Copenhagen

  I meet a Norwegian brother and sister

  we drink ourselves silly

  dance and sing karaoke

  until we are kicked out

  of the smoky, dimly lit bar

  Home is in Oslo

  Norwegian folk village tour

  browse local pop music scene,

  end our day

  at the only Korean restaurant

  in the city

  Home is in London

  you dodge bombs on buses

  we wait to hear I’m okay

  Home is in America

  all across the Land of the Free

  Home of the Brave

  we gather in city after city after city

  because we can

  Tumbling Twin Towers

  cannot keep us apart

  though other forces did for decades

  Home is in Australia

  my sister

  sends me her love

  through cyberspace

  Home is in Bangkok

  my brother feeds me

  gives me shelter for the night

  we dine at the North Korean restaurant

  end the evening at a room salon

  Home is in Korea

  in a candlelit garden

  we gather to remember a brother

  we never met

  yet around the world

  we celebrate his life

  that ended too soon

  In Korea, home is on the soccer field

  where German, French, Italian, Danish, English,

  mispronounced and misunderstood Korean

  mix with the dust from our cleats

  Home is in thirty countries on four continents

  no matter that our Korean tongues

  are now twisted like pretzels

  we can no longer communicate with each other

  much less pronounce each other’s names

  we are bound by a tie

  we did not choose

  but cannot be broken

  So wherever you are

  my brothers and sisters

  Mattias, Dominique, Jos, Charlotte,

  Bree, Susan, Jeff, Suryoon, Sang

  my dongsaengs

  my oppas, my unnis

  wherever you are

  that is home

  What Do You Miss About Korea?

  thank you T. S. for starting this conversation and J. C. for continuing it

  I miss being the majority

  Koreans asking me for directions

  hoping I never got anyone lost

  I miss five dollar bibimbap

  gathering at bars with silly names

  like Hippo Hof

  bad, cheap food

  miles of tables

  I miss mega city convenience

  public transportation

  gifted tailors on my block

  Asian film fests

  hiking with strangers

  mountaintop soju toasts

  Sunday soccer in four languages

  coffee shops that star in Korean dramas

  my stylist, VIP head spa treatments

  twenty-four-hour beauty shops & restaurants

  shooting ranges with coffee shops

  I miss doorbells on tables

  with options: water, bill, help

  I miss dinner tables with toilet paper

  all-purpose paper product.

  I miss Korean guys

  who want to go out with me just because

  I miss making fifty dollar/hour

  as an English prostitute

  tax free!

  I miss buying earflap hats I don’t need

  keep me warm on cold January nights

  I miss relaxing by the Han Gang

  like I’m in the movie Gwaemul, The River Monster

  I miss meeting my brothers, sisters from Europe, Australia, Canada

  I miss crowded Korean streets

  rush hour subway fo
otball

  I watch Korean movies

  to glimpse street scenery

  so I miss this friend less.

  After I Left

  My heart began its million-year fast

  late-night rendezvous unfound

  peeks darkened street corners

  final subway trains

  eternal Saturday nights

  drunken Seoulites fight snowy midnight taxis

  find movie theaters

  hair salons

  twenty-four-hour speed ramen

  noraebang, spas

  until 5:30 a.m. trains

  bring new days

  My heart traveled Busan bullet trains

  devoured beach film festivals

  watched bad Korean movies

  nondescript streets,

  crooked, stone cobble alleys

  corner markets glimpsed

  simmering sundubu fogs glasses

  My heart flew across the Han River

  drank overpriced appetizers at The Havana Monkey

  friends crowded plastic covered booths

  dodged Psy’s Gangnam hagwon students

  My heart closed meditation eyes

  Buddhist temples chant 3:00 a.m.

  remember times kept alive

  friends’ laughter dines on Korean BBQ, gogi jip

  smoky, poorly lit January street kitchens

  My heart felt August cold air conditioners

  monsoon flooded shoes

  July sweat drenched heart memories

  coming going friends

  revolving subway doors

  My heart’s million-year fast

  stays alive

  after great-grandchildren hearts

  awaken buried memories.

  Dual Citizen

  Reparations: compensation in money, material, labor, etc., payable to an individual for loss suffered during or as a result of war.

  Honorary citizenship

  insults me

  dishonorable face slap

  on your exported children

  we entered this world

  as your fellow citizen

  Dishonorable discharge

  from Korea

  stripped me of my status

  your daughter

  your son

  your legacy

  You took six decades

  to return my birthright

  now a jigsaw puzzle

  with more lost pieces

  than the population of Seoul

  Have you no shame?

  dignity delayed

  this better life you gave me

  bans me from this dual honor

  You gave us the keys to the city

  we’ve unlocked closets full of lies

  exposed them to the world

  through Samsung phones

  you created

  Why isn’t my Korean citizenship