my name cathywas a jacket that never really fitbut we made it.nothing could mute my featureswhich screamedforeignerimmigrantnon belonging.the jacket made me smaller.i took up less space.i made them feel more comfortablei lived under layers.but the jacket slowly got tighter.as i grew biggeras i got olderas i became wiseras i took larger breaths to breatheto existto be full.cathy.is easy on their tongueis pleasing to their eyeis familiar to their sensesis a name from theirmother’s mother. cathy.is a reminder that i carrythemtheir legacytheir loadtheir burdenstheir labor.cathy.is not my ancestorsis not my tongueis not my toneis not my name.i am. the people of the junglethe people of the fieldsthe people of the boatsthe people of guerilla warfare tactics that always defeatthem.my indigenous name. was given by my mother’s brother on the day i was bornwas absent from my american birth certificatewas presented only in the presence of my peoplebut no more.no more jacketmade of threads dipped in silenceand woven too tightto stretch and fit.no more jacket made by the hands of strangerswith pockets too small to carry my truths.my indigenous name means poet.it is my armorit is my ancestorsit is my tongueit is my tone.thy. is my name. thy nguyenJanuary 17, 2018Comment 0 Likes