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
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