Where My Umbilical Is Buried by Amanda Galvan Huynh

The poems of Amanda Galvan Huynh’s debut collection of poetry, Where My Umbilical Is Buried, have a lot of heart but are far from sentimental. The speaker of the poems is facing the trauma of generations. The poems speak of ties to mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, and a shared culture in small-town rural Texas. The poems are sharp in their direct gaze, and in their willingness to weld form to their advantage. These are poems that bring the reader into the circle of the speaker’s memory and trauma, where the reader finds welcome and warmth. Buy here.

From “Elegy for las Manos de Mi Abuelo”

they are born

soft as cotton

small but able

to wrap around a stem

they learn to grow

with each season

and drift like pollen

they learn to callus

along the edges

learn to live with dirt

under the nails

they learn to birth

onions from the earth . . .

From “Before My Mother Was Born”

before she was born

her dad died in an

accident except it

wasn’t an accident at

least that’s what her

brother says he was

twelve at the time but

said their dad was shot

in the fields while

working . . .

“The Abortion My Mother Told Me Not to Write About”