TWO POEMS

Self-Portrait as Foreign Body with Storm in My Lungs

-ina: This suffix is used as an independent name,
but doesn’t your little one deserve more?
—a baby name origins website

as in, I spent my playground days gasping endless into a machineas in, my elders blessed me with a second name, to ward off spirits who prey on sick childrenas in, I swallowed the name like it was a tinctureas in, the name is a diminutive pretending to be me (something I learned in English lessons)as in, I became the diminutiveas in, I grew smaller & smaller under empire’s eyeas in, I flew across the ocean to meet the settlers who raised me from afaras in, I was marked foreign before I wasas in, I was plucked back out once I magicked my round vowels awayas in, I have no discernible accentas in, I sound just American enoughas in, I might never know the world, except for how it scrubs at my name before it blossoms on my lipsas in, I heave my words out, hair lunatic / electric, my breath shivving out of me like a bird jagging the skyas in, I’m afraid of squalls, of being uprooted, an island dislodgedas in, my voice rasps against the thunder of unbeing, of untethering & shrinkingas in, my name tries to hide behind my speechas in, my mouth tries to hold on to its silencesas in, I dream the sparrows outside my window chirp in my native tongueas in, once, I was told to go back to the junglesas in, they don’t know my mountains rim with frost in monsoon wintersas in, I’m familiar with the cut of wind in my chestas in, I cough out familiar idioms so I won’t be seenas in, I’ll always fear how my teeth soften under borrowed wordsas in, I reach for something to dispel the callous rainas in, I want to be the kind of brown that reaches for sun, limbs unwithering, finallyas in, I reach for my name, my nameas in, I name myself, spell myself into beingas in, I yearn for a future that spells me correctlyas in, mornings, I spell my name loudly, willing the hairs on my arms to prickle & riseas in, nights, I nest into a thousand feather pillows, whisper my name to myselfas in, I spell myself deliberate in that liminal space between wakefulness & sleep—with intention, an alchemy: metal to goldas in, I cover myself with the dirt of my ancestors—play in the ochre mudas yesterday’s mothers nourish me with their musicas in, I call to them, ask for guidance: they sing back my nameas in, I sing with them, sing I sing