Replanting

By Eunie Jeong

Babbling and innocent, arms grasping at the air. 

Mouth puckered, eyes peer out.

Lifted up.

Wrapped with care and love, 

held close to a softly beating heart. 

Hazy memories or dreams. 

I snuggle in, hiding from the gush of cold stale air.

The muffled sounds, the sleepy people.

I rise up, up into a dark rimless bowl of stars.

Sleeping through all the turbulent emotions of those around me 

and bustle of the night.

Arriving 

A foreigner, in a new home.

Passing time, like water through a fishing net. 

Droplets that show

painful shyness, the fear of being noticed. 

The language of Wordsworth and Shakespeare

too different for my inflexible tongue.

Stumbling over lines, verses, paragraphs. 

Trying to grasp the swimming words with my outstretched hand.

Passing years, like icing powder through a sieve. 

Each taste a delight, full of bliss

Awakening to a morning of possibilities and birds softly chirping,

light dresses of blues and greens, small shiny shoes and a cardigan on top. 

Running round the earth scented daisies, playing hop skip jump.

Skipping, whirling, and reaching high up on the swing

The shock, the confusion as I am torn away. 

Tender roots that yet cling on to the home I remember.

Hugging tight the toy which looked wistfully at me with glassy eyes.

Both packaged

going elsewhere to stay.

Promised a room, pretty furniture, a home.

But I did not want a home

I had one before.

Again at the airport, on the brink of change. 

Harsh voices, frantic people, grating in my ear.

Caresses of grown ups.

As I came out of the airplane, it was dark and grey.

Yet steaming air rushed towards me, squeezing me as I gasped,

vomited, cried. 

Just wanted to go back.

Led away on a wheelchair, dejected.

Unfamiliar, a foreigner once again.

A new home, a new land, I shrink away. 

Pushed into school, withdrawing into myself.

The faint sound of unhappiness.

Wishing for the past.

But the past was like a pond with a layer of silt, stirred up by time.

Making new friends, building up trust.

Picked up and dropped again.

In a crowd of people.

Unable to get in, trying to squeeze through the cold barriers.

Isolated, alone.

Finding friends, but constantly worried they would melt away, leaving numbness.

Smirks, sniggers, snarls. 

Tearing the fragile cloth I had woven.

Unable to weave again. 

Again the water is clouded.

What next?

The soothing glass of hope, thrust in my hands.

Family, friends, home, dumplings, and shopping...

I ponder.

I sip.

I smile.

Photo by Chandra Lynch from Pexels