Before he has learned to take, he has learned to give. Give himself
into small stories, breathe himself into large hopes, spit out each silent
wish until it cleaved him in
half from force. Gave his back as a road for my next destination, the epitome
of self sacrifice. For this love, this greater good, such great heights,
I have been told to humble myself before it.
Dipping my hand in the river, I watch
as the water parts to embrace my flesh, kissing the half moon crescent of my nails
before directing me down through him. Sum - it means ‘To Be’ in Latin,
to become
a sum of ourselves, we are one & this is how I speak of us in my prayers.
We are One. A bird warbles in the distance, sound in the trembling silence,
this anxious half lifted atmosphere that holds him within its perpetual grasp.
We always need more. We always need more than what is given, we’re
digging at the bottom of an empty well. The cries of the bird settles into something thicker & more nostalgic, it’s speech has a name. Like, the weight of the river on his clothes which drags him down to the earth, kissing the soil until the gaps in his teeth are filled with the tang
of blood and dirt and grief. Like, the way every life is held dependent on shoulders as hollow as the bird itself, holding up more than Atlas’s weight. In this time, I have never been taught how to reflect on acts of kindness. The river
flows on, lighter than the blood that flows through Us.
Appa in Korean is Father. Appa. Or Apa, it hurts.
It hurts to see us call so consistently upon your delicate faith. Giving before
Taking. Taking before Giving. The difference between both words is just a rolled
consonant, a mouth clashed shut with force & gratitude, between us who
sit at the world’s end. Oh, Appa, there are dangerous truths and there are sad ones.
Often, I cannot tell apart these shades of gray. Here: a dangerous truth,
we are fish in treacherous currents, beating against the tide
with nowhere to go but down. Here: a sad truth, suffering tames people. It hurts
to see that you are tamed. Appa. Father. Apa. Hurt. I am bowed before you
on this mountain of gratitude, but I have still not learned how to pray properly
& your back is hunched, blood sitting heavy on your clothes but the birds are singing this
strange song again - & so I run forward, past these currents, past this weight, past the memories & from
your cupped hands, this small moment of silence between two fingers,
so imbued with gratitude, so tender,
I burst into the sky
to fly.
Please give a detailed explanation about the meaning and main idea of this poem.
This poem is about the sacrifice of an immigrant father who attempts to place down his own dreams and values to pave the way for his offspring. There's a subtle play on words which hold homage to my Korean roots, 'Appa' and 'Apa' respectively meaning Father and Hurt. The poem is a understanding and an exploration of the nameless burden that weighs on the shoulders of immigrant parents and the unspoken emotions that swallows the child in both guilt and gratitude.
Please explain your writing and thought process regarding this poem.
I drew inspiration from my personal experiences
Why did you choose to write this poem?
I knew it was something that perhaps every first generation immigrant could relate to and feel the message in some way or another
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