yesterday
i chose not to receive
my littlest nephew just born
into the storm of our family’s diaspora
freshly delivered from the motherland
a reminder of generations trauma
our parents lost culture and survival
seemingly destroyed
forced to forget when
our mothers and fathers
set foot on this stolen land
little one
do you still see our ancestors
when we spin plastic cosmos above your cradle?
little one
do you still hear our language of the ocean
from the shells that line our walls as decoration?
little one
does your heart beat
to the drums of our volcanoes calling?
do your feet kick
to the longing of our lost islands?
little one
i want to love you, receive you
i am scared to hold you
i want so much for you to be the star
whose tongue won’t favor bread over rice
even if our own families say it’s okay to blend
halo-halo
that is what we are
lost in a  mass of ice queen water
crushed and sprinkled with
cute shaped sugar sculptures
red beans and over sweetened jackfruit
it’s hard to remember
what we used to taste like
how we used to feel
see, hear, smell
love
little one
i see seven generations after me
tenderly caring for each other with
our recreated languages and dances
two-spirited children and parents
all our spirits colliding and loving
as one water, one ocean
little one
i will visit you someday soon
say hello to you and all the ancestors
who came back to this world through you
little one
we can remember together
the medicines our greatest grandmothers
swallowed into their wombs for us to discover
