Compose
Compose
In the wrestling match, my knees buckled,
A staccato burst of defeat,
Feeling out of control, angry, a cacophony.
But then, ukulele strings under my fingers,
Offered a universe I commanded,
Composed of these memories.
In third grade, I trapped a caterpillar, watched it transform,
Its wings unfolded, maroon in the sunlight,
Debuting away beyond my reach.
I couldn’t control where it flew,
But I could control letting it go gracefully.
Let’s gently put in a brisk tremolo here.
In middle school, my friend faced assault
By a bully who was being dissonant.
After I pinned him with precision, he left us alone.
I couldn’t control other people,
But I could control my boundaries.
Let’s interject a firm barre chord here with plucked strings,
Mom's "I love you," once a confident forte,
Now a fading chirp outside my door.
I couldn’t control my mom’s collapsing strength,
But I could control my echo back, “Sah-rang hae (Love you).”
Let’s strum some percussion here against the quiet.
No dinner that night; the cupboards were sparse;
Soy sauce and garlic percussed with tofu in the pan.
I couldn’t control my mom’s illness,
But I could control making the most of the ingredients.
Let’s insert a smooth legato between a G and A here.
My mom vomited blood staccato into the sink.
Frightened, I prayed to God, that she will heal.
Despite my longing, I couldn’t control her health,
But I could control my faith.
Let’s slide up to a higher pitch here.
I got word she will not come back for a while.
Distressed, I wrote a note to her each day.
I couldn’t control her journey’s flight,
But I could control loving her gracefully.
Let’s place a … key change here, though wet with tears.
I cannot command when she will return,
But I will compose my Sah-rang refrain.
It will live on my ukulele,
And on the day of her return, we will strum what we can control,
Uplifting each other on the things we cannot.
The Voice
May 2024
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