Feet, what do I need you for
when I have wings to fly?
—Frida Kahlo
On the map of my body
live colonial scars
seared into memory by war
carried into the next millennium
by discarded children
to cities of my unknown history
Marked for abandonment in Daejeon
wounds pierced me while in the womb
wounds that would not heal
as my body traveled north to Seoul
passed through the Pacific
Returned to the nation that gifted me these scars
I bare them to Korean media, taxi drivers, ministers
the scent of magnolias, cherry blossoms
soothe my pain
like a sauna
on a cold, wintry day
Korea marked my inner thigh
with the only clue on this treasure map
twenty stiches crisscross my face
glass slices fingers, arms
Each unknown step
in this occupied territory
Lifts me to flight
Across the Han River
Down to Cheju Island
to the top of Halla Mountain
My body is testimony to an erased history
history banned from museums
Absent from textbooks
Unknown to a new generation
A history we imprint on this nation that sent us away
a sealed tattoo longer than the Olympic Bridge
Higher than the 63 Building
Older than Confucianism
Every citizen sent away
Another missing chapter
Another wound on my body
Another stain on this nation’s history.