There is a grey sculpture on the gutter
Today, your invisible armor will crack
like glass
and the building turns concrete.
I remember praying for the sky to sink until
we could gently dent the moon into sculptures.
I had asked have you seen two moons before?
but you didn’t reply and made an oval
with your small fingers. The dark hanbok
you wore looked so forlorn
so I stuck grass on the sleeves and ricecake
on your head from Chuseok.
I left for a while before
coming back to the brambled soil to see
only the ricecake infested in ants inside
a grassy coffin.
Today, I wish you become lost behind
houses and shops where your clothes
turn into shadows that drape across
my rooftop.
Dolls on the branches of a sonamu tree
I would like to go
and watch a puppeteer
behind the wooden
frames and velvet curtains
and see their faces which
will get devoured into bits
by the dark.
I would like to steal one
of the dolls that have
loose string on their smiles,
their color overlapping with
the sun that has decided
to parch the small clothing
until its sleeves upturn.
I would like to remember
the yarn hair of the doll to
that of eomma’s who
stared at my face as if it
was alabaster that had
two dots for a face and
its button eyes like my
mother.
I would like to seal the doll
in a cave where its back
will grow hairs like needles
and their dresses torn and
stained by the dirt.
I would like to find the doll
again, and study its frail
arms and legs that dangle
and point downwards,
its fabric heart hiding
like its treasure.
Today, your invisible armor will crack
like glass
and the building turns concrete.
I remember praying for the sky to sink until
we could gently dent the moon into sculptures.
I had asked have you seen two moons before?
but you didn’t reply and made an oval
with your small fingers. The dark hanbok
you wore looked so forlorn
so I stuck grass on the sleeves and ricecake
on your head from Chuseok.
I left for a while before
coming back to the brambled soil to see
only the ricecake infested in ants inside
a grassy coffin.
Today, I wish you become lost behind
houses and shops where your clothes
turn into shadows that drape across
my rooftop.
Dolls on the branches of a sonamu tree
I would like to go
and watch a puppeteer
behind the wooden
frames and velvet curtains
and see their faces which
will get devoured into bits
by the dark.
I would like to steal one
of the dolls that have
loose string on their smiles,
their color overlapping with
the sun that has decided
to parch the small clothing
until its sleeves upturn.
I would like to remember
the yarn hair of the doll to
that of eomma’s who
stared at my face as if it
was alabaster that had
two dots for a face and
its button eyes like my
mother.
I would like to seal the doll
in a cave where its back
will grow hairs like needles
and their dresses torn and
stained by the dirt.
I would like to find the doll
again, and study its frail
arms and legs that dangle
and point downwards,
its fabric heart hiding
like its treasure.
Soheon Rhee is a 13-year old writer.