made in the streets of Seoul,

a motel, a man who looked like a

bear, our mother.

An almost abortion, cheers to water

breaking.

God’s grace she’d name me, Jo Hae-in.

Ocean I’d travel,

a name I’d lose. God too.

The grace I’d keep.

My hair stuck to my brother’s lollipop lathered face, as he held me at the Detroit International Airport.

A sweet delight for a family I’m now stuck with.

They’d call me Anne.