writing a poem whilst listening to a poem...

the spit of ahjushis
frozen to the pavement
a permed halmuni kicks a plastic bag
up the one of millions of alley ways
this one being known to me
this one leading to a
hwajangsil...

the shape of their actions
heavy forming
in my mouth
she kicks the space
between tongue
and roof

i dont want to taste his spit
frozen in the pavements of
my mind

turning up my own street
my mind's legs
walk towards the hwajangsil
seeing the things we once
sharpied on the walls
(love notes
no longer valid
inside some illustrated red apple
now crossed out by keys)
(but im speaking of another
hwajangsil
thats further up the street...)

each day
i am making peace
with a past that i cannot
fully see
may never fully know

i am lines of blood
my own red string(s)
i am his spit
her kick
those silly notes of love
scrawled on bathroom walls
throughout this neighborhood

and in each act
of him
and her
and me
i am finding
the return
to
some body-known
beginnings.

born of this soil
born of this river
i am this place
this place
is me.



kim thompson. sun 19 feb. 2012. 15.00 seoul. s. korea