NEVER FORGET (BULLET IN MY POCKET)
I have lost my way
so far
from where
I began.
The grains of rice I scattered
were gathered and
swallowed
like bullets,
cold and sharp
swelling,
in the throats of my ancestors who
will never know
who I am.
A blank spot in the book
(that only I can see)
Cut off from the tree.
like rotting fruit,
a dead limb,
Carried away to be buried for someone else’s sake.
Someone else’s garden.
Someone else’s crop.
Someone else’s heart.
Transformed.
A bleak metamorphosis
Emerging
as though rising from the dead
to only die again
The grave strapped to my back,
As I learn to walk
In your land
an eternal sojourner
a half citizen
Who never existed.
But only to serve you
in your utopia
of blessed children
of the rich and gifted
Required the deletion
and eradication
of all prior inheritance.
But the shell could not be discarded.
So, you carved your mark.
Like half moons
into the bones of my face,
Scars to remind me,
to insure that
I cannot neglect
How lucky and loved I am
Elevated and saved
above all others
the unlucky,
the unfortunate,
crouching in a corner
orphan.
I would have been.
So I stand at attention.
Saluting
stiff and erect
with a bullet in my pocket
etched with
the words--
Never.
Forget.
___________________________
This poem is for all of my fellow adoptees, and in particular for those who are no longer with us...who were never able to shake the graves from their backs, who were never able to find their way back, who despite their valiant, courageous, precious efforts were never able to forget...I will not forget you...We will never forget you...
To read more by Mila, click here.
