Call me Yi-Fen Chewbacca (Chewie for short)
This will be a poem in translation:
growl growl grumble howl⸺
a collection of raw, wet throat sounds
that others might recognize as music,
and some might know as a soliloquy
saying, My name must be remembered.
I carry a crossbow firing red lasers,
you’ll find my brown lips curled
into a snarl of contempt. I’ve been called
a walking carpet, a thing, a companion
for scoundrels. I made my way
from the jungle planet Kashyyyk
to this star-smeared cockpit,
keeping my wits away from my temper.
Sure, a few arms were pulled from their sockets,
but you do what’s necessary to win.
You might be tempted to bite your own hands,
you might want to yodel through a Tarzan swing.
You might think skin a luxury instead of fur,
except when hunting probe droids
across the harsh iced surface of Hoth.
But you haven’t lived inside this animal,
this forest-scented flesh, cloaked in rage like musk.
You haven’t chased down bounty hunters
with nothing to gain except a criminal’s trust.
You haven’t watched entire planets explode.
So, let me grumble, growl, snort mumble howl,
let me punch up coordinates
for speeds you’ll never reach,
the stars are still bleeding
in those constellations of mortal shapes,
just more targets
for the arrows of your dreams.
I’m hoping maybe some day you’ll learn,
a name isn’t given, it’s not something you take,
a name is something you earn.