ocean

42 degrees north latitude, 180 degrees west longitude
the halfway point between korea and america
is where i call home

even then, this is not accurate
though i was born a US citizen
my blood contains traces of hanguk soil
so can you imagine what an entire circulatory system looks like
stretched across 5686 miles of ocean?
you could tightrope walk along my vascular tubing
play me like a bass and pluck the frequencies
of what means to be alien
the other
always a foreigner

when asked about my nationality
"american" is never the right answer
not even when
i pledged my allegiance
exchanged kimchi for burgers, duk for cookies
korean school for little league softball
and never once uttered my middle name
suhyung, korean for flowing water,
in fear of opening xenophobic floodgates to racist currents
that swallowed my tongue, my lungs, my muscle
and forced me to learn to breathe underwater
pushed me into the middle of the ocean, where i reside
42 degrees north latitude, 180 degrees west longitude
no "american" could never the right answer

my aunt begs to differ
she refers to me as the white american
white american
acts as lashes against my yellow skin that used to yearn
for such identification with handprints of achievement
taunting us from the other side of the glass ceiling
soo-moh, i'm not angry at your blindness
because we share the same story

we both know
cousins sharing songpyon during harvest
sam-il oon-dong bloody fists pounding for liberation
the taste of busan sunsets
makeshift wedding gowns of war brides and orphaned amerasians
churches turned incinerators
screams of burning men and the smell of martyrdom
a baby crying in front of soviet tanks
our families bullet ridden and hung like laundry in town squares
outstretched hands between sisters and brothers
across proxy war barbed wire
now, across the pacific ocean

i know you know
what a riot really feels like
the smell of edward lee's blood
the weight of his mother's heart
the absence of police and ambulance sirens
how to differentiate the sound of breaking glass, from shattering dreams

tell me what's so different between me and you

tell me, when your grandchildren come home with stories of playground racism
will you trade kimchi for burgers and korean school for little league
when they lose their language
will you call them white americans

let's face it
we both wear resentment like christmas ornaments clinging to the walls of our throats
and despite what you may say, we speak the same language
broken english, broken korean
both broken
after our days are done, we both return to the same neighborhood
on the underwater outskirts of acceptance
42 degrees north latitude, 180 degrees west longitude
the halfway point between korea and america