Here I am at the inconveniencestore of unspoken words. Rows of softsilence. The produceof our Korean families. Five thousand years+of the People in White. We are the girlswho went away, who left memory behind,who ate pebbles and stopped talking.We each need a librarian, an army of+alphabets to keep us warm at night,when our voices stiffen to copper and tin.When our grandmothers dissolve into mistand our grandfathers mold wives out of dirt.+Here we are at the corner of the past and fateno one discovered except American dayby American night. Work. Switching faces was easierthan trading one tongue for another.+How do we pronounce our skin in English,turn our silences inside out like a fox-fur stole.The Korean fox with nine tails is a demon,always a woman, her heart thick with dreams+of human sacrifice, of the future of nature.Korean girls who slept with the dictionaryso they would never be alone, so one daythey could give birth to bruises and poetry.