버림받은 자식

The lake receives my child
is one way of saying
you are drowning.

An echo ripples across time
and dissipates into a lush
soundlessness. A soft

lap and a black brush
of hair on the shore
-line as if there

is ink enough to write,
lake, bless my child
as a new way of seeing:

A warm bath drawn for me
to sink my garbage
tongue, buoy

past the tubby lip, sink
into a towel,

어미
어미
wait for me




Reprinted from OSSIA (Changes Press, 2024) with the permission of the poet.