Small Eyes 

- Young-Key Kim-Renaud

                                      The Passing of a Giant Tree                                              

                                                           The wind is howling and whistling through the night.

                                                           This trustworthy guard of my abode

                                                            Is now lying down cutting me off from the world.

                                                           From where did you come?

                                                           You took root like a chance,                                                            Grew freely and rapidly into a nameless tree,
                                                           With your body, rugged
                                                           With brawny muscles.
 
                                                           Oblivious of the snow piled up around you,
                                                           Your tiny brown buds were ready to shoot out life.
                                                           Your dainty leaves, so unlike your rough body,
                                                           Fanned and soothed my languid heart.
 
                                                          Mother on her rare visit from afar
                                                          Captured on her canvas
                                                          the ecstasy of your youth,
                                                          With a trembling display
                                                          Of yellow, green, and red.
 
                                                          When all things lay barren
                                                           By the force of Winter’s fury,
                                                           Your trunks and branches drew
                                                           Dainty yet reassuring lines in the sky.
 
                                                          Where are you now?
 
                                                           Your thick body and black limbs
                                                          Tell us of your death
                                                          With your formidable hunk
                                                          Like a giant who has fallen
                                                          After a deadly match.
 
                                                          Your broken trunk revealed
                                                          A deep hollow cavity.
                                                          Ah, before the wind struck from outside
                                                          It had already infiltrated you.
 
                                                          Now that you are gone
                                                          I see a side of me which I didn’t know

                             I Remember

                              -Young-Key Kim

 

 

 

 

 

It was a languid summer day in Seoul

When the crepe myrtles were in bloom,

Everyone was busy preparing for Father’s birthday,

Children frolicked in festive mood,

And Hobaegi, our dog, was jumping in contagious excitement.

The only thing that concerned me was those elusive “100 points”

And taking care of my baby brother for brownie points,

Which meant special prizes from Mother, children's books and comic

books she handwrote. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But no one came to Father’s birthday.

 

The War broke out the day before Father’s birthday,

 

Shattering our world, our peace.

 

No children showed him respect with deep bows,

 

No words of wisdom or blessings

 

Flowed from his own father's—or any guest’s—mouth.

 

 

 






 






 






 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother said it always rained on Father’s birthday,

 

And it was a good thing, for the Dragon loves water.

 

But it was not a good rain.

 

The muddy river dike swallowed my rubber shoes,

 

And wanted to take my feet, too,

 

As I tried to plod beside this or that sibling 

 

riding up on an adult’s back.

 

 

 






 






 






 






 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

The Han River Bridge fell before our eyes.

Father, a solid athlete and expert swimmer,

Refused to cross the river, because he couldn’t leave us behind.

 

 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

The three months’ hell started from that moment.

 

Mother’s ruptured appendicitis turned into grave peritonitis,

 

And we children lost our innocence.

 

 

 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

I, although only nine, was the eldest of all and

 

Represented our household at townhall meetings,

 

Where I observed people’s court and even executions.

 

 

 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

We learned what it meant to be hungry.

 

But worse than hunger were three kinds of sounds:

 

Ringing of the doorbell in the wee hours of the night

 

Meant they came looking for Father,

 

For a banker was “bad by nature” and deserved to be shot on the spot.

 

The baby couldn’t talk, but the four little kids

 

Knew that one mention of “Father” would have made all of us half-orphans.

 

 

 






 






 






 






 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

The airplanes flying low meant someone could die,

 

As one of them killed our elder uncle and two dear cousins.

 

The missiles' whine made us tremble under the coverlet,

 

Sounding like a deranged policeman’s whistle leading everyone to hell.

 

 

 






 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

And then all that suddenly stopped, just as suddenly as it started.

 

We were on the street greeting you, alien soldiers on foot.

 

You were all dirty and hairy—of all colors, yellow, red, brown, and black.

 

I saw all the adults were genuinely happy to see you,

 

Shook your hands and handed over the Korean and American flags.

 

Some embraced you as long-lost brothers,

 

And children began prancing with joy again.

 

 

 






 






 






 






 






 






 

 

 

 

 

 

I remember thinking, “Are these creatures who pulled us out of darkness

 

Holy Ghosts, the monkey-king Sûn Wùkông (孫悟空)’s doubles?”

 

The magic gave us the miracle of the Han River.

 

Look where we are and where they are--

 

It is not a Forgotten War, but the magic lives on and on.