Many moles dot the canvas of my body.
I imagine little flecks have been sprayed on me by
a celestial brush, held by an empyreal hand;
one flick of an invisible wrist and
I became marked for life.
I should explain. I am of Korean lineage –
(we are all very much spattered like this)
These tiny speckles written onto me are
Braille stories inscribed by generations already
come and gone.
I wear them proudly.
I always wondered if you peeled me tenderly
Having spread me across the sky
(let us go then, you and I)
Would these moles somehow translate into
a small map of heaven?
Can you read stories from these constellations
and what volumes do they speak?
Do you see love and hardship in the scars
that flicker over my left forearm like
the arc of flaming phoenix tails across the sky?
Close your eyes and run your fingertips gently
Over these bumps, and listen for the sound of laughter,
the vibration and the hum
forever propelling my beloved family forward –
Too many wispy ethereal questions. I sound ridiculous
pondering infinitesimal things,
Especially about little moles that grace my skin.
I make myself out to be something grander
than I truly am.
I am small and human, just like you.
D.H. Lee
(via Swanksalot)