The Single Unwed Mothers’ House
Bo Hee Moon
Being parted
from her baby,
a fig split
in two, I listen
for the ocean,
for my birth
mother’s voice
and the voice of
her mother, her
mother, her
mother.
The body says
everything.
I hear the same song in
Seoul
as in Sedona,
A stone
drops
into the creek.
I’ll love my daughter
no matter what,
listening to her
on the couch, eating the
last bowl of winter
soup, some parsley,
some bread. I’ll let her
write about me, my private
space, all my inevitable
mistakes, it’s her story.
Bo Hee Moon is an adoptee from South Korea. Her poems have appeared in CutBank, Radar, Redivider, the Offing, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere.