Muscle Memory

When you are born of immigrants, 
the memories that live 

in your mind and gut aren't just 
your own. Damp t-shirts and towels 

dry in the sun on the balcony 
railing— these too are flags 

of the country of your first 
education, reminding you 

of your ancestors and kin 
who knew how to bend to the soil 

and bow to the rivers, when
to stand up with others and when

to bide time; when to slip, watchful,
into the simmering background.

Their hands know how to wield 
the hoe and transplant the fragile

seedling, how to guide the gleaming
scalpel in the operating theatre

with precision as it enters 
subcutaneous tissue to start

the work of regeneration.  
You will try to keep this

knowledge alive in your own hands:
memory of touch, firm memory of when

it is necessary to quarter and loosen;
memory of how to keep life alive.