the heart is an organ

unless you are a poet

a songwriter

a hormonal teenager

the forlorn wife in Love Actually

my freshman year roommate Ron

my friend, the painter. we’ll call her Mary

ever since that idiot boyfriend of hers left

mom when dad had to find work abroad

because of some gluttonous bankers in 2008

dad after grandma died

grandpa after grandma died

or anyone who is not a surgeon

bedtime

there is no more profound joy

than my dog's little black paws

stretched out in comfort

underneath my sheets

the ancestors would balk

at this sleeping arrangement

how unhygienic, they'd think

well I say fuck the ancestors

on the road to Oakland

up the 5

we discuss

the motherland

her suffering

her pain

how sorrow

is ours

as much as

kimchi

and rice

to love us

is to speak

the language

of scars

reopened

we say while

traversing

California

in its bright

in its smile