We were told to never talk
about trauma that suffocates
chokes the womb
if we spoke
gratitude would silence us
grief reveal expunged lies
deceit meant to kill
force another breath
lies dance across bastard reality
governments would tumble
We were told to never talk
about lost but not found names
so our Korean families
could forget our tiny feet
our 2:00 a.m. infant cry
first Korean lullaby babble
wobbly steps, cling to furniture
one hundred–day celebration
first birthday
never worn child size hanboks
blank university entrance exams
unserved military service
first dates, soju shots
school field trips
eyelids never double folded
3:00 a.m. Kakao messages
wedding hall matrimony
We were told to never talk
about our grief and loss
more massive than Gwanghwamun
jigsaw families
framed with missing pieces
our silence bleeds a slow death