Arrival

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