coco mālie kawaioli krishok
6 pounds of
decolonization
each
syllable proclaims your lineage
your
auspicious arrival
daughter of
natives and immigrants
small
earthling self
constellating
through the cosmos
into our
arms on the fall equinox
did your grandmother
sense you?
as your
mother’s ovaries formed in vitro
perfect
little ovaries the size of mustard seeds
the embryo
implanted into the lining
made rich
by centuries of women survivors
hailing
from portugal
china
the
philippines
germany
and hawaii
the
follicle that would become you
carrying
the stories that comprise your genes
your body
knows the flavors and recipes
passed
through umbilical cords into amniotic fluid
my son
introduces my korean mother and father to you
and the
polish and italian parents and grandparents of his father
the
nightshades appropriated by the conquistadors from the americas
into italy
circle back
and land
smack dab in the middle of the pacific ocean
floating in
your salty ocean
every grandmother
and great grandmother and great great grandmother
caresses
you
welcomes
you
stay, little one, stay
where is my
mother in your perfect dna?
where is my
halmoni and the women before her?
could you
taste the go-chu and ma-nul in the fluid
preparing
your palate for kim-chi?
every gulp
of breastmilk connects you back to the islands
and
peninsulas of the matriline
those who
survived genocides
the korean
women during wartime, struggling to feed their children
buffeted by
aspiring super-powers
the
filipina clutching their identities, their homes, and families
the wahine
fighting for their waters, their language, and their land
how many
times can land be stolen?
how many
times can a woman be raped?
how many
times can she be humiliated and trampled?
how do we
reclaim our bodies, our homes,
our food,
our
stories,
our
children and grandchildren?
I feed your
mother the tomatoes and potatoes
from native
america via italy and poland
I feed your
mother the kim-chi from ground chilis
packed in po-ja-gi
and carried across boats
I feed your
mother my mother’s myuk-guk
iron-rich
birthday soup of roasted sesame oil, soaked mushrooms,
and seaweed
from oceans that touch both
this island
and my grandmother’s peninsula
it is all I
can do to not take you to my own breast
of dried
milk ducts and shriveled ovaries
I am past
childbearing
I have
entered the larger realm
of the
intergenerational embrace
I am backed
by my ancestors and their ancestors before them
I carry
their wounds and their brilliance and their strength
I am here
to embody all that as I cradle you
in arms
that stretch generations
welcome, my
child
coco mālie kawaioli krishok
coco mālie kawaioli krishok