On Meeting My Biological Father Sarah Audsley (bio) Mostly, I don't think about him at allas I go about my day, hanging laundry to dry,brushing teeth, making tea, and somehow,he never appears in dreams, and perhaps,I do feel a bit guilty about the lackof his presence, how it doesn't take upspace in my subconscious, and then I needto remind myself that it happened at all,that afterward, at a pork hibachi restaurant,on some street I cannot name, in Korea, a serverfrets over the meat, uses scissors to cut upstrips, flipping them as the juices sizzle & slipdown onto the coals in front of us, and he teachesme to use my chopsticks, folding the hot stripsin lettuce with sliced green onions,freshly pressed tofu, radishes.With this stranger I've just met, I siton the floor, share this meal. Gestures,a smile here and there, is what I can say.I don't remember the quality of the lightonly that he said he didn't takemy mother to the hospital—it wasbecause of family debt, a cloudhanging over him—so she diedand he was left with me—small &screeching, with no milk, no bottle,formula, so expensive. What to do?When did he realizehe couldn't care?Again, I try to remember whatit was like in the orphanage,in a country where I've never lived,in a foreign tongue. He holdsmy hand, strokes the back of it, says, [End Page 124] how good it is to see I am grown,I even resemble my mother, says he'shappy, asks if I'm happy, too? [End Page 125] Sarah Audsley Sarah Audsley has received support for her work from the Rona Jaffe Foundation and residencies from the Vermont Studio Center and the Banff Centre's Writing Studio. She is a graduate of the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College and served as the Staff Artist and Writing Program Coordinator at the Vermont Studio Center from 2019-2020. Copyright © 2020 Pleiades and Pleiades Press