Elegy, Ashen
In her face, she shows the monotony
of grief: white as sawn wood. Her lips
melt as she imagines the embered strike
of the match, the rusted rooftop
railings gnawing around what
she imagines—his last moments. His flesh, something
she made more enigmatically than love, shimmering
in memory—every June 21st, every polka-dot
tie she wrangled around his neck before
entering church every Sunday. It’s ash now. Ash, the bright
yellow shoes he wore to her birthday dinner last week.
Ash, the Mother’s Day card he once wrote
with a broken arm. Ash, the tissues he silently nested
into her palms on teary days. Ash, his last
I’ll be back, mama. Another smoking lie. Ash. He believed
his lies would send him to hell, anyways—the nicely
folded bed sheets, the suffocating good morning
hugs, even the cereal boxes he put back
on the kitchen counter. He would have
landed there by now, sipping a piña colada by a pool
of eternal magma. But she is poised. But she is
in place. She blinks ten seconds at a time. She exhales
louder than the air conditioner still gawking
on the balcony, tapping her grieving fingers
against her thigh. She wishes she could
follow him, ebonize in the same flames
her son lit for himself—
Nature Ode with Tteokbokki
Gusts of mugunghwa-scented wind trickle
through the marketplace. Around them, suburbia
sweats through the Seoul summer, the diaspora
of red pomegranate seeds glossing the Man’s cheeks
with July sun. As His sweat rainbows the burning
asphalt under His flip-flops, He points out the Woman
to me as She swirls ashes with one hand, hurdles red
paste with the other. The Woman, barely opening
her eyes, smothers each ricecake, wrinkled
fingers kissing gochujang, forehead spots like pebbles
scattering along the sand. She beckons for us to taste
her tteokbokki. We erupt: small giggles, yellow bursting
out of His smile. I stand back. Cherry blossom
after cherry blossom slithers until pink and white fills
the mouth of my palm—petal tips patting
my cheeks, pollen sprouts chirping into my pupils
as the wind picks up. We knock our heads
upwards—He, this street vendor, and I—gazing at what
floats, the cherry blossoms dropping from above
into the black eyes of the lake, staining sight
with tteokbokki. I want this taste forever.
Yukyung Katie Kim is a tenth-grade student at Deerfield Academy in Deerfield, Massachusetts. A passionate visual artist and writer, she has a keen interest in poetry and fantastical imagery. In her free time, Yukyung enjoys playing the oboe.
Beautiful. and beautiful to read as the red maple leaves fall into the Ct. River today.
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