by Kyong-Mi Park
translated by Sawako Nakayasu
A loosening inclination to talk. Dangling a teabag. We’ve not spoken in a while. A brother-like person asks is this purple flower a kind of primrose.
The leaves of the flower are pale. Full of emotion, I am far on the other side of the window. Here I see pigeons and crows. Because there are always cake crumbs. The tea is not fragrant but it is hot and I am steeped in it.
I saw his small feet first. I was there at my sister’s delivery. I made him cry. Fun-ny. But I couldn’t relax until he clamped down on her breast. The baby’s gotta cry.
A beautiful gaze only for a moment. Reflecting very much my inclination to talk. People’s words flow, the way water has weight. Brown eyes, unable to go through with these careful words, I only see myself.
Very relieved. Very. Something to smoke sitting on the bookshelf in the room. Enjoying himself, throwing smiles at his siblings’ conversation. The leaves of the flowers are pale. The potted obconica closes its eyes, opens its ears. Babyishness of the baby boy.
Mustard color suits you, a hand-me-down jacket from my brother, this is very good, such a cute little brat. We always ran slow, but we weren’t being chased or anything, us girls. The inclination to speak, very much wanting to laugh. Pigeons and crows, a man, my eyes are near.
The yellow sets, a deep brightness, it’d be fine to be crushed while living. Push your eyes out of the way now. I’m carefully breaking apart. Are you full of emotion. I am far on the other side of the window. Here I look at one petal of Mexican Violet at a time, still here.