I Used My Words I Used What Words I Had
by Boatemaa Agyeman-Mensah
After Franny Choi
In Korean, the I changes depending on the relationship
described in the sentence.
For example, I am 저 with strangers.
More polite. Refined.
I chew with my mouth closed. Start with the
left fork. I dazzle. I wine and dine.
But behind closed doors
I become 나 to my sister—casual. Less kind.
I spit on purpose in her drinks. Eat the last piece
of everything. I’m vindictive. I whine and lie.
You see, in Korean I can adjust.
I can morph and multiply.
No one knows how to change the I in English,
Which sits, always, a step behind silence.
That sound —shhhh— like a single wave.
Like the swishing bowl of womb water
I followed, once, to flush myself
Free from my mother’s dark body.
To become sister,
To become “hello stranger,”
Teaches me that I cannot change. Silence is something
I must learn to map myself around.
Just like the tongue only learns to dance in an empty mouth.
Or how the sweaty face finds its shape in the leather couch
it peels off of. Once, I watched my sister wrap herself
behind the bathroom door of our too silent house
And I didn’t say anything.
And, still, I wouldn’t say anything.
I just waited for the hush that came after
She returned home.
Mostly, from lovers and loved ones who didn’t know
how to talk about it—
The way she tried, but failed.
Because I failed
To change,
No matter how much I saw.