There

“Dad, I’m here!” As I make my way into the charnel house, I greet my father as cheerfully as possible. My father appeared in my dream that night. “Hey Eun, today Dad’s here.” The possible burst, and something slipped out. Toward that far off day, precipitously overflowing cheerfulness.

Those

Open, and there they were. For all to see. Like they’d still be there even if I forgot, like I couldn’t forget as long as they were there. But I opened them to forget. Because if they’re there, they come to mind, they show up, they tighten around me. Because I can’t forget.

They won’t be there. They might not. How nice would it be if they weren’t? There they were. I can’t forget. Maybe I’ll never forget. How nice would it be if I could only forget? No matter what, there they were.

They were outside. Inside, I didn’t know where they were. Inside was at peace, easy going, all alike, so there was no way to know. The inside story isn’t much for going out. It only curls up and congeals.

They’ll be there as long as I live. As long as I’ve got a mind to open them and a hand to open them with. Even if they’re gone, I’ll still think of them. They’ll show up in my head. They’ll tighten around my chest. Nothingness will forever knock on former somethingness.

Close, and they were gone. Like nothing happened. Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I felt sorry for closing my eyes. Those things between not seeing and not looking. Those things that thinking of brings up. Opened or closed. Even unopened. Since I couldn’t close.

There they are.

That

There is something

Its name escapes me

There is something

With a name

Here I am

Not knowing its name

I become engrossed

It is engrossed right alongside me

There is someone solving a riddle

A riddle no one posed

A few days later

The name comes to me

There I am, feeling the emptiness

Something went unnamed then

But on the street, in the bus, outside the revolving door

After much thought

With its name

There it is

That

To talk about it I had to remember it The thing before that thing When it wasn’t that thing yet The thing I thought was that thing The thing that played a decisive role in giving that thing a name The thing closest to that thing The thing forced to exit as soon as that thing entered That thing gets unkempt as it grows and gets further apart from the thing It tries to erase its past up to right then and be remembered as that thing only and fully.

        The starlight appeared and the star was gone

        The mountain bird sang and the mountain went away

        The seawater swelled and the sea dried up

        Like a word forgetting its meaning

        The moment it’s pronounced

This

They said it was just here

Right here

They were only gone for a minute

And it disappeared

Maybe the bathroom?

Or the utility closet?

They only looked away for a second

What business did they have

In the bathroom?

What were they utilizing

In the utility closet?

It was right here

This

This very thing

This was right here

How reassuring

How pleasant

They never even showed this to anyone

But now this isn’t here

So this isn’t this anymore

But they know what this is

So it’s not just some thing

Can a lost this still be found?

Will that still be this when it gets back?

They only looked away for a second

And this ceased to be this

This gave up on being this

They go back into the bathroom

They search the utility closet up and down

But this never shows back up

How could this do that?

What’s to be done about this?

Even when it was here

And even when it’s gone

It was never anything but this

It could never be anything but this

They

Talk like a person Just like a person

That was an insult

As beautiful as a person Could almost believe it was a person

That was a mirage

Oh, I thought that was a person! Must’ve taken ten years off my life

That was sincere

Lucky to be a person, and

Even luckier not to have been

The first bus arrives loaded with yesterday’s exhaustion

And the last bus departs loaded down with today’s

He

Moving day. The first thing he did was count the windows. There were definitely three when he came to see the place, but now that he was moving in, it was down to two. When he confronted the owner, the owner claimed two was all there’d ever been. Was it some sort of illusion? No, more like magic. When he first came to see it, the three windows were what appealed to him. It was an old building, in an inconvenient location, and you had to go up a steep hill to get there, but he’d be happy to sign the contract because it had three windows. He imagined the three windows shining with warm, bountiful sunlight. At that very moment, the sun poured in through all three windows. The thing that appealed to him became the thing that sealed the deal.

        On the wall where the third window was, there was now a clock. The owner said the previous renter left it behind. The hands on the clock weren’t moving. They sat unbudging at 11:20. A stopped clock in place of a window! Looking over the contract, the owner said, “It’s a small place, two windows will be plenty.” He’d only wanted such a small place because it had three windows! But if he said it out loud, he might look hung up on the windows. He’d have to put up with a sarcastic comment like, “I’d rather you came in through the door, anyway.” And then there’d be some common-sense retort, “When would I have had the time to get rid of a perfectly good window and put up a wall?” He was this close to becoming the nonsensical tenant hung up on the three windows.

        But those three windows were the one good thing about the place. He took a quick look behind the clock in case the window was hiding there. “It’ll work fine if you just change the batteries,” the owner said with a yawn. I’ve got a clock, what I need is a window! There they were, him holding out for a window, the owner insisting he hand over the deposit, both stating their demands without a word. It was still 11:20. He didn’t think he could live in a place with two windows. Just like the hands on the clock, always pointing 11:20, there would only ever be two windows. Putting new batteries in the clock wouldn’t create another window. “It was some guy hung up on the windows. You know how some people are. So temperamental,” the owner would quip to the next renter. There’s homes everywhere, but a home with three windows is only somewhere. Moving day wouldn’t become the day he moved.

        But is it even possible for the sun to come in three windows at once? He stood there already unloaded like the moving boxes, looking up at the place. Even outside the window, it was 11:20 over and over.

We

Open parenthesis

Jot down the secret

Close parenthesis

The secret sealed away potentially

And there we were

Outside the parentheses

Secretive but not secret

Fearing exposure

But wanting recognition

The parentheses embrace the inside

Turn their backs to the outside

Do anything to meet and form a circle

What’s inside the parentheses

Struggles for breath

The shadows outside the parentheses

Milling and

Wriggling and

Churning and

Seeping into the parentheses in droves

We

Became a secret but

Were much too close

To hide each other

You

You were born a proper noun but were often called a pronoun. Those who distanced themselves from y’all, those nice enough to lump you in with we, those who took you under their wing, young friend. They were all proper nouns once too. The more you tried to get rid of the noun within you, the more proper you became.

        When you were born, you were almost an adjective. Bright and cute. Handsome and beautiful. Adaptable and outgoing. People said it felt good to see you. People said you gave them energy they didn’t have. Your essence was like water, less placid than rippling.

        When you were young, you were close with numerals. You raised your hand to go first. You sprinted down the street at the shout of one, two, three. Whenever you made a new friend, your frequency of pronoun use increased. So many countless yous, and the you that you liked best soon became like your other half.

        With your other half, you became a verb. You decided to leave behind being a state or condition and became movement. From here to there, from there to yet another there, which once was yonder. Once you became a verb, there were more imperatives. Sit still. Be careful! Smile more. Don’t cry. Do you love me?

        You explored particles, and your other half focused on determiners. You confessed to your other half, “There’s no one else but you.” Your other half took it to mean just one person. It was fine up to that point. But that was it. “Particles don’t attach to determiners,” your other half said, turning away coldly and promptly becoming they.

        After that, you started indulging in adverbs. You spent a lot of energy puffing you up and shrinking you down. It was so exhausting and painful, and you were often starving. As your opinion became clearer, you actually grew more faint. Eventually you felt embarrassed.

        When you became an exclamation, that’s when you realized.

        Oh, this wasn’t the sentence!

Me

When I wanted to be alone

I went to the bathroom

Alone

I felt lonely, then

In front of others

Somehow embarrassed

Fine with being alone

Became

More comfortable alone

The bathroom mirror was wiped clean

It’s not like it would get smudged

But it wasn’t easy to look into

I looked at the mirror and smiled

No one was watching, but even still

The corners of my lips wouldn’t rise

Like something I shouldn’t have seen

Like something hard to watch

I burst out laughing

Like a story you shouldn’t laugh at

Like a smile turning into a silly face

Like the most famous comedian

In a funny world

Alone

In the bathroom

All by myself, and still

It was an effort for me to smile

Translated by Seth Chandler