returning

Intimate stranger, is this the legacy you imagined for us?

Five, six hours of labor–supposedly–shared between us, to bring me into being.
And I know, 엄마, you wouldn’t couldn’t didn’t hold me.
Letting some of my grief, instead, cling to you;
unburdening me just enough, that I might survive what would come next.
Look at all that I’ve inherited.

Deep within my bones, I carry you with me.
Out of need, not desire, I tear at this fragile garment holding me together,
just to get a glimpse of you.
Wondering how, how could you possibly?
Never, yet, receiving any response.

Reeling, aimlessly wandering through the world,
Incomplete, I beg others to tell me who and how to be.
Squeeze myself into a sliver of existence,
Eventually appreciating that there’s only room for one here.

A hand reaches out, touches my hand, touches my heart;
and another, and another.
Never the hand that is needed though.
Distance becomes closeness becomes intolerable.

Fearful, fearless, fucking enraged,
Always fighting.
Lean in, I beckon, just a bit closer–so that I can push you away; and,
Later, I’ll cry about it.

An abundance of teachers reveal themselves:
Nerve endings, the trees, memory, lovers, time;
reshaping me, cell by cell.
Directing me towards the path back to myself–
or, is it many paths to many selves?

Feral parts of me that will not be tamed,
All come together, unsure of how to coexist within this container of compassion and grace and unconditional love;
my body, our body.
Learning that we don’t always like the “both/ and.”
Lumbering forward, still, with the intention of leaving none of us behind.

And those parts of me that refused to be adopted
Now laugh at the absurdity of this reality,
Demanding that in the future, we only tell true stories.

Fumbling, with conviction, I wonder how I’m getting in my own way.
Attempting to craft new narratives, expand into unexplored territory;
I stretch just so,
Lest I shatter into a million pieces.
Like always, I’m careful.

Here, witness the heartbreaking, loud, messy, ugly;
Every wound I attempt to heal.
Resist the urge to interfere
Even as they scab and scar, fulfilling their beautifully grotesque nature;
imprinting a permanent memory onto this temporary home.

I couldn’t imagine you as a real, living person,
with hopes and flaws and joys and debts.
It felt disrespectful, to dream the story of your life without your consent.
In case you are real though–and even if you’re not–please know,
I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Repeating these words as incantation—not knowing whether they conjure or release—
Expecting no answers, just like you taught me.
See you in the places where our edges meet,
in purposeful pain,
Trusting that life also exists here.