Lei Kim

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Lost

I spotted something
during my morning walk
in the park
under the shadows of trees
black as the wondering night:
a wing
a single wing

I almost reached out
to hang it on a bush
just like someone did
the other day with a child’s cap
found on the grass

Cemetery Rules

No Flowers,
when the cemetery announced,
people were devastated, but a little girl
brought a pebble, flat and pretty,
with words written on it, for her grandmother.

Soon, pebbles with thoughtful words
piled upon the graves, some were tossed, displaced,
then, another came;
No Flowers and Pebbles,
Anything Decomposable within Three Days.

It’s longing that invents uncanny ways of love,
she placed an empty jar beside her lover’s gravestone,
removed the cap, waited a while, and left with it.
One asked about her ritual; speak into the empty jar,
whisper, joke, or simply my love, whatever,

then seal it and let it loose, lungfuls of longing.

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Lei Kim is a poet and translator living in France. She translated Lee Jangwook’s poetry collection, Request Line at Noon (Codhill Press, 2016), and received the Modern Korean Literature Translation Award.