Suicidation
I want to drive out to the marina to lodge your car into the sea.
(I’ll steal it, of course) and I want to die down as
the sun blushes itself into a purple disquiet. Bury
me in the roses of dappled light that rests its head on
currents weary, I want to be buried where the watermelons glide
in the dark blue rivulets. We saw seagulls pecking fruit out of nodding
waves and we laughed two years ago, I wonder where did the
apples go. I stood on the rocks with friends three and counted the
barnacles and glass.
There is no iteration of me which dies to the sea:
restless creature, full of a thousand fathoms and pursuits.
I am too fickle, too self-obsessed to really
give myself to red and purple tides.
And I want to drown but I refuse.
And I want to die but I refuse.
I want to lodge your car into the whites of the tides before
it all comes crashing down but I know you’ll
stand on the pavement and ask me
where do I think I’m going without
you.
Memory of Goa-Eup
A slash of white over deep green trees,
the heron finds its way home again.
Yuna Kang is a queer, Korean-American writer based in Northern California. She has been published in journals such as Strange Horizons, Sinister Wisdom, and more. Their website link is: https://kangyunak.wixsite.com/website
Angel Rust 