Hae, I want ice cream.
Hae, can we do face paint?
Hae, I’m Arielle and you be Ursula, okay?
*Spits food I made back into my hand*
Hae,
Hae,
HAE!
Hae, go away.
Hae,
hehe. I just farted.
Is it time for you to go yet?
Hae, open this.
Hae, will you come to Christmas?
Hae, your face looks weird.
Hae, I love you.
In August of 2024, I got to build a loving relationship with a four year old …
While glancing at my phone,
she asks,
“Hae, what are you doing?”
A surge of guilt passes through me,
as I find myself scrolling mindlessly through instagram.
I leave my phone in my bag and approach her on the swing.
“I’m sorry,
do you want to connect?”
A big smile flashes on her face.
I chomp at her feet with my hands as
she squeals in delight.
The hungry alligator is back and so are
we.
I dream I am chasing my dad on foot as he drives around and around
a cul de sac talking on the phone.
I am screaming and sprinting after him,
but he is too fast and his eyes never meet mine.
Eventually I give up running and wait despondently on the curb for him to pick me up.
He drives just past me and unlocks the door.
I hop into the passenger seat
unable to contain my rage.
I yell, “Didn’t you see me running after you?!”
Phone still pressed to the side of his face,
he finally looks at me and says,
“No, I didn’t.”
I wake up feeling as if I’ve passed a fever in the night.
I check my phone
to find sweet texts from my partner after a weekend of hive inducing conflict.
They send me a photo of freshly sprung tulips,
tell me that they love me,
and ask me what I need.
Genesis Soup
made in the streets of Seoul,
a motel,
a man who looked like a bear. Our mother.
An almost abortion,
cheers to water break
i
n
g.
God’s grace she’d name me, Jo Hae-in.
Ocean I’d travel, a name I’d lose.
God too.
The grace I’d keep.
My hair stuck to my brother’s face at the Detroit International Airport.
A sweet delight for a family I’d be stuck to. They’d call me Anne.
Do you need me to enunciate?
M as in Moon-Jae.
N as in Nara
P as in Pajeon.
T as in Tae.
H as in Hae-in.
I’m a poet. I think…
When did dreams become ideas to be
chased?
Are dreams not
fleeting desires meant to travel across our cornea like clouds?
Maybe it’s okay for me to follow them from time to time,
but is it fair to be disappointed when they’ve taken me to the place they were meant to disappear?
Maybe dreams are the temporary relief we all need to stay
put.
To appreciate the grass supporting our backs, as we try to comprehend the enormity of life’s possibilities.
Today I’m a poet,
tomorrow
…