split my lip for the innocence i know
lies beneath: i think i almost drowned
this summer & the swimming pool where
i tried is on fire now. this body feels
strange & hollow, halfway between an
exhale & something else. i want sunsets.
i want rooftops. i want to be uninhabitable,
light falling through an open window. need
to be something other than nothing & paint
myself as a being instead of a collective. i
can’t live through this loveless hour. the
air before a lightning storm strikes between
my ribs & then i am rendered sharp as
falling rain, the color of home changing to
ozone. i don’t think i ever left that swimming
pool. the skyline is on fire & i am lighting
matches on my lips. let me dream for a little
while longer, please.
Eunice Kim is a Korean-American writer living in Seoul. Her work has been recognized by or is forthcoming in The Hellebore Press, Rose Quartz Magazine, and Polyphony Lit. She currently works as a poetry reader for The Adroit Journal.