Find It In a Bowl

Mother, where have I come from? Little histories in a bowl.

Feed it to me. I poke around my intrigue in a bowl.

Fill it full, and hefty, and solely my own alibi.

Red spaghetti, chili– I find home cooking in a bowl.

My language is misgotten, if not, taken from the streets

of home and those who know my skin, sweet wrappings in a bowl.

My skin is soft and young and tan- it’s tanned I think, that’s it.

That the sun sun-shines and tints my skin, it’s me in a bowl.

Lighter than, darker than, grow, then I grew up white I say.

I speak one language, understand, that’s yearning in a bowl.

I grow further, bigger, taller, smaller, crawler lost where

I linger to, a seeker set on searching in a bowl.

Find me shaking, chopping, stirring, watching, making lonely

efforts to find out or be found. It will be in a bowl.

Smell sesame seeds and sweet syrup like snacks growing up;

soy sauce, sugar, tofu and paste colliding in a bowl.

The same path you carved- I see you, I watch. Korean girl

Youn-hee; Italian, apart. That’s Amy in a bowl.

Indomitable. Plastic figurines fill shelves, mantles,

found through time. Hello Kitty, your dolls, filling in a bowl.

Buy bulgogi by the bucket, grocery bibimbap,

kimbap, kimchi. Hangul bookmarks, belonging in a bowl.

All to mimic that strength in several different ways, I rush

for this truth that’s locked past pantry doors, sighing in a bowl.

Growing Matthew, why must you ask the strict criteria

to belong? Your blood, your cooking, it’s steaming in a bowl.

about the poet

M. Gordon (any/all) is an emerging artist who primarily works in theatre as a Playwright, Director, Dramaturge, and Producer, with some flirtatious dips into Fiction and Poetry. As a biracial Canadian, they reflect a lot upon the dual absence and manifestation of their Korean heritage; which they grew up quite disconnected from. They have long considered writing as a means to process, communicate, and experience emotions which are too scattered, contradictory, or ethereal for words or time to handle themselves. They tease the text on the page into manifesting a feeling ephemeral, and hope that you'll feel it too.