Michelle Park

Dear Mother

Your husband shivers onto his bed
in the living room, smothered in light
grey ashes that smell like concrete.
He flashes his hands at me,
covered in calluses, as if a thick fabric
has cloaked it, and says that it’s because
of moving steel poles twice his size.
It’s only been two months. The dark
circle under his eyes descends down
onto the crest of his cheeks. He says
it feels as if time has stopped there,
the draining hours reviving longer
and longer each day. Today he’s fast
asleep before he’s able to watch
his favorite sitcom, and I hope
he was only on crane duty. Every
morning, I see him crawl out
of the house, disappearing
into the dawn, towards Naksan-gil,
and into the swell of the roadsides,
their piquant smell turning bitter and rusty.

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Michelle Park is a 16 year old junior currently living in the Philippines. Many of her poems are about nature and memories from her childhood. She loves to eat food, and during her free time, she enjoys playing soccer, dancing and listening to music. Her works have been published or are forthcoming in The Weight Journal, The Rising Phoenix Press, One Art Poetry and elsewhere.