Working on some writing projects lately. One is rewriting some old poem drafts. Thought I’d put one up here and let it get out of the vastness of my notebook collection.
Peppers [v2] [v1 from 27 November, 2011]
It’s after eleven and there’s a knock at my door.
I had been ruminating in the darkness
with a baseball game on TV.
I answer to a woman.
She bows – annoying hasaeyo
I bow — ‘megook sarang’
I am despair with arms.
I am another light trending upward.
She laughs — more Hangul.
I shrug — more English.
I am not wearing shoes
She is not wearing eyeglasses.
This is when teapots come in handy.
Where peppers we use
might push us apart, or pull us together
if we spice our bibimbap the same.
Picture
us, sharing.
To pass through silence,
I attempt to enter the vault of her various and foreign souls.
She attempts to show up at every door I’ve ever been behind.
I offer what more I can in shrugs and murmurs.
With my eyes, I beg to ask which harbor she docks at in summertime to watch the Korean sunset.
And then she leaves, door closes, no more silence skimming over noise in the dark.
We are no closer in light years or movie frames. Yet,
somewhere
(let’s say Damascus)
someone
(let’s say him or her)
still has not come to knock.
ericryangrant.com 