한1
2021
rain patters like beatings from a cold mother
a young rascal looks down at the water
on Mapo Bridge
at the Han Rivers.
reluctance glimmering under the weeping moonlight.
he contemplates the smiling polaroids
and a letter of words he dare not say,
raising a hand to shelter it from the rain
but the rain still lets its hunger get the best of it anyway,
feasting on the crisp now soggy paper;
like what happened to
the abandoned bikes that rust in solitary.
it doesn’t matter anymore.
liquid woe washed away by clarity,
a gift from the benevolent rain.
Find solace, a fleeting whisper from the skies.
“The dawn will come for sure”
words which have been read too many times.
his han
ds were scarred and scuffed
etching verses of each painful memory.
the Han Rivers that bear too much Han.
in this weather where 寒2 is most inevitable,
the Han River wraps around him with a chilly warmth;
solace soaks his clothes and seeps into his pores.
his han
ds washed and cleaned
he finally gathers himself together
leaving the sogged letter into a bin
and the waterproof polaroids tucked in his pocket
perhaps the words
which have been read too many times
still have meaning
the Han River is a great place to ride bikes
where 한3 is your true friend.