A black leaf inside the mouth

*Colourful neuronal reactions perhaps seems as such above in the picture when one reads and interfaces with poetic imagination.

Few winters after, I became all alone. Everyone hides their past in the pocket. They don’t have to bring it out with words verbally, rather they express those with same laughs, few drinks, cigarettes, or sometimes with their written letters. Having their past hidden inside the pocket itself makes us detect changes in human interactions, and after few of those changes one naturally concludes to be alone as gradually as few winters pass. The poet Ki Hyungdo described these hurting emotions between the lines, as his glass door cracked everyday. Would I be odd if I say that it doesn’t matter because I can replace the glass every time it cracks? Would I be odd because not all of us talk of hope these days? Ki said those unendurable days have all gone, but it was said before his death. Gloomy and melancholic verses; but they are still fading gaslight of reasons.

Teacher. Don’t go home visiting. My house is just too far. But you are the class president. No one is at home. My father alone, during the days. After school while walking along side the river I kept thinking of the grade award inside my backpack. River side was packed with Chinese pinks. All of these have seeds. How little seeds become big flowers. I buried myself into grass to sleep. At late hour that night, my sister came back. How is the father. She smelled like gasoline. So, are you saying that you’d deliver tons of newspaper without bike, even backpacked? Opened window, I could see in the dark that winds baked up some cottonwood trees as if those were gigantic bread. Then that day I didn’t tell anyone that I floated a paper boat to the river, which was fold with my award.

I imagined the smile that the poet daily shows, knowing that he had no one to show his award. What’s in a smile? I recall one of my friends who had a beautiful smile, only to know later that he had been through a lot. Perhaps it is the poet’s work to write his or her own past, so that the reader feels less lonelier. Maybe Ki tried to love and to see the warmest places of the world when said that he can replace the glass every time it cracks. When there is no glass on the glass door, the sunlight passes through directly.

I became carrying a poetry in my backpack, for normally a poetry book is smaller and thinner than novel or scientific report. It is just the size of puzzle books that I used to carry in my backpack when I was in elementary school. Now it became letter puzzle in my very age. Everyone has someone around, and in this case, I would say some poets are around. We talk, we share loneliness.

* ‘a black leaf inside the mouth’ is a collection of poetry by Ki, published on the year 1994.


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