Lost in Translation
by Rina Olsen
For my mother
i.
The only religion in a multicultural family
Is the hiss of a stir-fry pan filling in the silence
As one searches for the [correct word] but even
So i feel prayers wither and shrivel in my mouth
For each night i fall asleep before remembering to clasp
My hands. they catch flame in my lungs, blackening at
The edges and crinkling like the wrappers of those sesame seed balls
We ate together to the ticks of the kitchen clock. they burn up
Into ether, lulling me into the arms of a hot summer’s evening
Before i throw them up like i do my pasta & soda & other inconsistencies
From my dyspeptic organs. after the hurling it is always you that stays at
My bedside, kneading my stomach, giving me sips of whatever came
From that shrine of a medicine cabinet. and the
Prayers whisper, mea culpa. Forgive me, Father,
For I have sinned. 엄마, 미안해.1
ii.
When i was born it was you that was gutted like a
Fish even though it was i that flopped onto the deck. water and gills
Slipped from my body. lungs bloomed in their place. tell
Me, have you traced the evolution of my squalls in the bassinet
To my stifled whimpers in the school bathroom stall? walls as red as
Between my legs except for the part to my left where someone
Scratched in A**HOLE, branding the stall
Just as the red brands me—brands me as a woman, though i am only
A tadpole trying to view a delicate lotus in its entirety. i swim
In my sweat & tears as i clutch my abdomen in bed at 4:08 AM
And you join me in the pond, clutching my hand amidst the pastel cobalt
Of dawn. you help me tread, put your hand under my chin to tilt my head
"you try / To translate this for me but all i can understand is that i am a pupa crushed in / A glittering chrysalis, my wings folded a million times over like origami stars."
Up out of the water. this is how one becomes a fish for someone else. you try
To translate this for me but all i can understand is that i am a pupa crushed in
A glittering chrysalis, my wings folded a million times over like origami stars.
iii.
It is said that daedalus once managed to thread a
Seashell by tying twine to an ant, putting a dollop of
Honey to one end and sending the ant in through the
Other. i am not daedalus but daedalus’s ant, cocooned
In ariadne’s thread, crawling through the walls of a seashell
Towards a smell that never grows stronger. it’s what assures
Me that i am still loved, loved like that book someone spilled
A budweiser on. pages warped, liked the wavelengths of our voices
Intertwined in late-night halogen conversation. these walls of
Gravitas are what allow me to believe that
The tennis definition of love is nonexistent [here]. when i reach
The honey, i pray i’ll remember to cough up a prayer
And unfold it to read before i drown in indulgences. i clasp my hands
As if to hang onto the safety of that shell, as fragile as all things born
Of water, yet so strong with its sweet, sweet honeysuckle embrace.
The ocean does not echo
Inside this shell. still, i try to translate all of the moon-ordained tides
into a hymn we can both understand.
1. Mom, I’m sorry.
About the Writer...
Rina Olsen, a rising high school junior from Guam, is the author of Third Moon Passing (Atmosphere Press, June 2023). She is an editor for the teen literary magazines Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine, Polyphony Lit, and Blue Flame Review, and she was invited to be an instructor for Polyphony Lit’s Summer 2023 writing workshop Around the World of Poetry in 80 Days. Her writing has been awarded by Guam History Day, the Sejong Cultural Society, and the Walt Whitman Birthplace Association, and she has been published in Jellyfish Review, Okay Donkey, Lumiere Review, and elsewhere. Visit her at her website: https://rinaolsen.com.
About the Artist...
Jenna Williams is a junior in high school and at the moment has an interest in drawing people in her life.