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Poet Troy Osaki on the Filipino diaspora in the Pacific Northwest

Troy Osaki
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Each day during the month of April, KUOW is highlighting the work of Seattle-based poets for National Poetry Month. In this series curated by Seattle Civic Poet and Ten Thousand Things host Shin Yu Pai, you'll find a selection of poems for the mind, heart, senses, and soul.

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poken word poet Troy Osaki writes eloquently and tenderly of Filipino workers on the frontlines to bring visibility to their labor throughout the Seattle and the Pacific Northwest. Reflecting on the global economy that creates the circumstances for human trafficking and the labor diaspora, Osaki's poem speaks deeply to identity and the longing for home.

The grandson of Filipino immigrants and the great-grandson of Japanese immigrants, Troy Osaki is a poet, organizer, and attorney. Osaki is a three-time grand slam poetry champion and has earned fellowships from Kundiman, Hugo House, and Jack Straw Cultural Center. He was awarded a Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry fellowship from the Poetry Foundation in 2022. His poetry has appeared in Crazyhorse, the Margins, Muzzle Magazine, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. He holds a Juris Doctor degree from the Seattle University School of Law where he interned at Creative Justice, an arts-based alternative to incarceration for youth in King County.

Every Filipino Belongs to the Philippines


All of us      everywhere

        The fry cook at Jollibee in Southcenter Mall

The grocery bagger at Seafood City next door

        The custodian mopping the floor in Suzzallo

or Odegaard   at the University of Washington

        The caregiver unfolding a wheelchair in Lynnwood

The cashier at Goodwill off Dearborn

        The groundcrew at Sea-Tac Airport

The childcare provider driving a minivan
       
        on a navy base in Oak Harbor

or Bremerton          or Silverdale

        The housekeeper at Swedish Hospital

The seafarer docked in Portland or Tacoma
       
        or floating    in the Pacific

his face       cold enough      almost

        to disappear

Everywhere our people are        overseas        is a place

        we want our people back from

Apartments     hotel rooms      homestays

        everywhere our people package a prayer

inside a balikbayan box       wedge it

        between instant coffee & bars of soap

a whole church bell & cans of spam   too

        everywhere our people mail a million

envelopes of remittances from

        stamps stuck crookedly

to the corner   of each one

        everywhere our people’s employers lock

their passports        away in a private safe

        their monthly wages  stolen

debt the size of shipping containers

        everywhere our people are trafficked

We want them back   &   we want

        a country to come home to


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