by Kimberly Zin (poetry) and Justin Lee (art)
This poetry is part of the special series "Through the Light Holes" in collaboration with Myanmar Photo Archive.
Poem 1: Golden Flesh
mangoes hang like the fists of a girl
afraid of falling off the branch—
flimsy yet just supple enough
to support and hold her until
she matures and r i p e n s with sweet nectar,
ready to
let
go
on her own only to
f
a
l
l into the palms
of a man who scrutinizes
her in every which way,
i n h a l i n g her luscious bouquet
and sampling the d r i p p i n g juices
from her a m p l e flesh
before he deems her incapable
of sating his thirst, for he sees
she is bruised from her
f
a
l
l and too
fibrous and too acerbic, as he
hungers for something more delicate
and docile to the tongue that yields
and quivers to his ဘုန်း without the
repugnant aftertaste of insurgent resistance
Poem 2: Shout, Shouk, Lemon
our backyard lemon tree
always bears more fruit than
we can make use of its bounty
when i was younger
i bit into lemon wedges
to stave off the hunger
coming from the insides
of my bowels, screaming
to be released in tides
what i believe to be true
is that sour and sweet
both share the same view
but over and over i keep
choosing the caustic acid,
maybe it’s what i reap
from the seeds sowed
by foremothers who have
painstakingly plowed
with arduous aspiration
for a source of strength, only
their cultivation is my vexation
my mother tells me that we
mustn’t waste the sweet ones,
for we simply can’t be carefree
but i am irked and irate,
constantly working without
any sip of respite to sate
that fermenting indignant rumble
of yearning for breath, knowing
that any longer and i crumble
yet i dare not touch nor crave
the fruit we have in abundance,
governed by mentality to save
when i am mother i know
my child will pick our lemons
and be the first to forgo
the dreadful life of submission
and my child will savor the taste,
walking in life without reservation
Poem 3: Generational Marrow
Picture roots in your mind and imagine:
sturdy strong bones growing
into murky waters, taking hold
in the deep dark recesses so icy
so that the lotus may ever more
bloom as the bones burrow
deeper desperately digging in mud
for foundation for stability for familiarity
as the bud breathes and buzzes
with winds of excitement, unfurling
its radiant elegance in sun-kissed glory
being what the bones could not
imagine but know in their core
that they must latch on stronger the more
the blossom glows, for fear of letting go.
Poem 4: Seasons
၁။ Dry Monsoon ဆောင်းရာသီ
I remember my first time
was shrouded in shame;
quiet and uncelebrated,
its only souvenir: segregated
laundry bins as subtle
remembrance.
Thirteen years later, my cycles
are still irregular and so few
that mom says something must
be wrong with me and bothers
the doctor constantly to ask
for ultrasounds for blood tests.
Query for our elders—
what is more pure than
a babe born of mother’s
unblemished blood?
၂။ Intermonsoon နွေရာသီ
မေမေ always says
a woman is at her prime
prior to marriage but
valueless if unable to bear
child for no sane man would waste
time tending to infertile land.
Rice paddies are submerged
in water and nurtured to feed
starved nations parched
without the water of life,
of growth, of nourishment
needed to nurse the masses.
When I am twenty-two I have bled
enough times to foresee four days
of feverish chills, bedridden with pain,
fatiguing myalgias: the maiden’s malady.
၃။ Rainy Monsoon မိုးရာသီ
In medical school I learn we
inherit mitochondria from our
mothers and wonder if I am
bequeathed the same turmoil and
unrest gifted to my mother from
hers, if I too am destined to suffer in kind.
A woman worth her weight
in blood must mourn losses
unknown to others, of identity,
of career, of liberty because
she can only choose to elope
men to escape from men.
How dare he decree her so sullied
when he who is here immaculate;
birthed from her own home
and sustained with her essence?
About the poet and the artist:
Kimberly Zin is a Burmese American currently in her 4th year of medical school at Touro University California. Justin Lee is also a Burmese American, and currently works in biotech. The two are cousins who spent the greater parts of their childhoods together in Southern California bonding over mutual interests, running the gamut from gastronomy to literature.
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