Misunderstanding
As day and night switch places and the solar system tumbles, there’s not a sound. I am deaf. I rush down the winding road on the waist of Bear Mountain. I, too, can’t truly grasp the sadness flowing beneath the deeply etched joy in your unconscious. It’s the same with my granddaughter, whose heart is filled with the same blood as mine. It may have been last year or the year before, but what was it about the wintry sunlight warming my hollow nape, the morning after the soft hail fell slowly?
Poet’s Note:
I’m slightly reworking a poem I wrote 17 years ago. Yes, that’s right.
Poems can be rewritten. Can I rewrite myself? I believe it’s possible.
© Ryang Suh, MD 2007.08.20 – 2024.11.23
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