# data[].attributes.body
Why not the sky?
Why not the ground?
Why not the neighbor’s face?
Through only a crack,
they press, they peer.

A Seeker of T, nowhere to be found.
A Seeker of W, wandering in loss.
A Seeker of L, collapsing in despair.
A Seeker of M, endless, without rest.
A Seeker of H, blind in darkness.
A Seeker of J, altering all it touches.

And all seekers,
backs against backs,

# data[].attributes.body
pink roses,
lean in

yellow red zinnias,
avert their gaze

pink morning glories,
hush

orange nasturtiums,
curious
tilt closer

white purple nameless wildflowers,
slip in
scatter color

a small tree,
longs to join
rustling leaves

wires,
gossip runners
humming secrets away

lamp post,
back turned
guarding silence

chat chat chat
after school
two friends

different hues
chat chat chat
blending
into unnamed color

# data[].attributes.body
A heavy stone
shackled to his foot,
dragging with each step.

He tries to quicken,
but the weight will not lift.
He moves askew,
the rhythm broken.

That burden clings,
a shadow of torment,
an ache that never loosens.

And yet,
he no longer wrestles with it.
He chooses to walk beside it,
not tear it away.

Slow, uneven,
still he goes on.

And he knows now:
this very weight
is what steadies him,
what keeps him
standing.

# data[].attributes.headline
We're Coming Home(response to Richard’s “Urban Renewal”)

# data[].attributes.subject
We're Coming Home(response to Richard’s “Urban Renewal”)

# data[].attributes.body
The night begins in dark green.
The city folds the sun into shadow.
The stingy half-light of the moon is dim.

please see our white souls
wandering the streets,
searching for rest, for shelter.

please watch them scatter
into buses, trains, cars,
clutching at steel, at wheels,
anything that promises home.

Near us stand houses without doors,
walls that do not welcome.
please remember this hunger.
please remember this wound.

The houses wait in the distance.

The journey still flows,
like traffic choking the city’s highway.
Going. Longing. Going again.
Engines grind, lights bleed,
the road has no end.
We circle.
We vanish.

# data[].attributes.body
explosive charges roar

like a river after the thaw

the housing project cascades down

a waterfall of concrete dust

please disregard the tiny lives

that moved within these spaces

please clap your hands and cheer

as if it’s Independence Day

the rocket’s trail triumphant

until it bursts mid-stratosphere

the burning capsule spinning like an atom

please try not to think about its carbon nucleus

nothing to see here, folks

please move along

please continue to enjoy

your shopping day

like red cells in the bloodstream

the taillights flow along the highway

like shattered stars, the highway

flutter back to earth

# data[].attributes.body
You grow within the mother’s garden,
yet remain unseen
among the dazzled colors.

Your whiteness trembles,
as if a shadow had brushed your stem,
as if desire itself
had turned your gaze away.

Red, pink, yellow,
their bright intoxication
blinded you to your own light.
You hid your fragrance,
a silence concealing another voice.

Still, why the necklace of iron?
Why bind your tender stem
with cold, merciless shine?

Even weary petals,
fallen and fading,
still breathe a secret grace,
I stoop to gather them.

Rain falls in the mother’s garden.
In the fierce, briny rain
the iron unfastens,
melts into earth.

# data[].attributes.body
She wanders amid fabric and light,
unable to find sanctuary from worry,
and lifts a white dress she does not need.

Once, a bride
who could not choose the gown she longed for.

Now, after years,
she wears the dress in the fitting room,
a quiet rite of her own.

In the mirror, the heart remains a woman’s.
The dress belongs to a blur-white dream;
she cannot imagine an occasion to wear it.
She presses the shutter,
capturing the woman in the mirror.

Then she returns it to the rack
and walks back
into a world of countless colors.

# data[].attributes.body
Petals burn in quiet riot, each color a whispered vow,
She leans into their perfume, face soft with a dream she keeps,
Spring holds her there, a moment pinned in the hush between heartbeats.

* Poet's note: This is a sijo. It follows the traditional structure of the three-line Korean poetic form while using modern imagery and a clear emotional arc.

# data[].attributes.body
I am looking at a painting.

Each line
carries the sea’s slow sway.

It must be a small, rocky shore,
seen from a cliff
where only wind-scarred plants
remain.

Far off,
the coastline blurs
into the sky.

My gaze follows the cliff
to where the sea spreads wide with waves.
Fine ripples shimmer white
as they break along the shore,
only one,
a single weighty wave,
breaks upon the rock
where a silver shimmer glimmers,
a lone bright gleam
on dark stone.

I lean closer.
It is a gull.

What was the painter trying to say?
I just keep
looking.

# data[].attributes.body
A glass of overpriced French wine

Beside some hot topic novel

That might attract a bearded hottie

Who gave up mansplaining on New Year’s Day.

Six feet away from a ghost,

Well, a ghost in the making

Who lets all the plastic pleasantries

Serenade him to sleep.

He’s a bit of an inconvenience

For those with a fragile conscience

Who pause halfway through their sandwiches

And ask for to-go boxes.

But he’s subtle enough to be ignored

If their appetite counteracts “You’ll be alright,”

Curled up in a fetal position

Forever at the mercy of the larger human body.

Another glass of overpriced wine

Beside a bearded hottie

Who decided to stop by for a convo

About how to fix the world’s problems.

# data[].attributes.body
Afraid, yet drawn forward,
What will happen?
Whom will I meet?

What thread will weave itself along the way?
Why this thread, this path?

I hope to return,
for I am a mother.

So I pray,
gather courage,
and take flight.

# data[].attributes.body
I left behind a thousand lights—
each window blinking, all alike.
Silence stacked in concrete rows.
I needed more than what I chose.

Sunrise, sunset city,
where every start feels new.
I walk through light and shadow,
trying to make it true.
These towers mirror my face,
though none were built for me.

Still, I stay. Still, I see.
Strangers smiled, stepped aside—
but I could never step inside.
Faces change, and so do I.

I search the sky for room.
Wires stretch above,
endless lines already tied.

But no thread
to carry me on.

(May 8, 2025)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Sunrise and Sunset 2024-Young Hee Sung | Laird Art Gallery

# data[].attributes.body
My heart is shaped like a stone.
One by one, they come and touch it gently,
and whisper—their hearts are stones as well.

Not pretty.
Not smooth.
Not symmetrical.
Pressed here, crushed there,
each hardened in its own strange way,

and still, they call it beautiful.
Colors layer, stacked in strange ways,
corners worn down, rounded by time,
and somehow, it breathes.

So look,
touch softly.
My heart is already shared with you.

# data[].attributes.body
📜Please share a poem inspired by the artwork. Our Live Poetry Wall invites you to create ekphrasis.
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