Adopted bodies: reflections on the occasion of my first Seollal Celebration
As an adopted person, ancestry spells connection.
Connection to time, place, and
bodies; formed from the coupling and uncoupling of a reproductive string
entangled in my DNA.
That I do not know said ancestors names, and therefore my own,
the truth of our lineage is yet unspoken.
The name they claim and use, without me, remains false, undefined, unfulfilled.
Unwittingly, I could be the period at the end of a line.
By bearing children,
I have pushed the codes of time stamped transitory bodies through my own.
Reconceived in my sons;
I have added two names to our ephemeral tree.
I celebrate this first Seollal in America
to speak my nameless ancestor’s truth
an unbroken continuity, as I am neither broken nor missing.
I simply live on the other side of a historic veil,
guarded by the hounds of shame, fattened by grift and righteousness.
a ciphered genealogical line has drawn me in.
I am forgone, and on this day
open to forgive.