Last of the Summer

It isn’t that I can’t write

It’s like when I try to look at something

I can’t see it the way I want

Like someone who left their two eyes in zero gravity

Someone who left behind their two hands and feet

If I say I am that someone

If I say I’m going through a period of not writing

Would you understand?

Summer, returning without fail

Even more lush than before

Just as I thought it was over.

Someone vowing not to say anything at all

Because they can’t speak of unhappiness or pain without smiling.

In the half-empty water bottle, there were a bird’s melted wings.

With each step, I crushed summer fruits underfoot.

Since when has the word fruit

Been so packed with thorns?

A warm, friendly face

Melting away

Trampled upon

The last one of the year.

I want to give someone who’s crying a gift of even more tears,

So many they can’t tell which are their own.

Midday Diary

It’s supposed to be the rainy season, but it wasn’t raining.

I split an apricot with my child.

The apricot was hard and tasteless.

I tried to be lighter.

My child came home from daycare, and we colored together.

My child only wanted to color with the white colored pencil.

I said choose a different color, white won’t show up.

But my child said no, I want to use white.

At the playground, my child called out the names of friends.

My child saw a small bird and asked where the big bird went.

In the big planter out in the street, there were

Tomato vines fruiting in clusters. They looked like trees.

My face was evaporating

Rising toward the clouds.

When we heard a motorbike passing outside the window

Or the sound of a bird singing on a branch,

I asked what’s that sound, but my child knew them all.

There was white rain.

There was a white puddle.

Looking closely at the sketchbook

I could see the picture.

The rain touches the ground, trying to be lighter all at once.

by Ahn Miok

Translatedby Seth Chandler