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      May 14, 2018Tanya Ko-HongA Blonde Whispers Korean in My Ear

      We were drunk on homemade wine
      at a child’s birthday
      when a blonde mom told me
      Once I had a Korean boyfriend—
      his mother hated me
      but how I loved her
      food, bulgogi, japchae,
      and you know you can’t kiss
      after you eat that—
      what’s it called—the smelly cabbage
      made with salted baby shrimp,
      anchovy, garlic, chili …
      She giggled,
      Chili,
      kochu
      I know a bad Korean word, she said
      Whisper in my ear, I said
      Jajee,
      Her face bloomed red bong soong ah—
      My face a frozen trout
      Only a whore uses that word—
      Never wives—not even to their husbands
      Never moms—not in front of the children
      When referring to the penis, a Korean doctor says
      songgi—
      a Chinese word
      even after Koreans invented it
      That’s not a bad word, I replied
      It’s just a part of the body
      Who does she think she is
      to say that word?
      When I’ve never pronounced
      it
      with my mouth—

      from #59 - Spring 2018

      Tanya Ko-Hong

      “As an immigrant of the Korean diaspora, I know what it feels like being invisible, voiceless, and powerless. Writing poems has been a long process: even allowing myself to write certain words felt like an impossible transgression. At times I was sick at heart, in pain and angry, but something magical was happening. I was able to expose my own wound through new symbols and images.”