you walk at an angle but won’t let me
pull the left backpack strap
onto your shoulder; you let it hang.
you move scooter-like along the pavement, every few steps
tilting your head
to see if I’m still beside you. I am,
still searching for something to say,
but there’s too much sputtering what
with the whiff of traffic cacophony we pass and your
unsettling attempts at breath. i can see the sunset
behind the seoul city skyline
turn red and orange as if preparing for winter. before its infinite space is
this green rubber sidewalk & those old men playing blackjack with
rice cakes as makeshift money & that woman lugging a cart
of cardboard boxes to sell for a day’s food.
i consider saying
this to you, uncurling the city before you, but can’t find a moment in
between your muted sobs. and so we walk,
to nowhere in particular, maybe because
you’re sick of the way this city sings disillusionment like a hymn,
but two blocks took you from hysteria to this
and that’s enough
to keep us going.
Photography by: Jisu Han on Unsplash
