far

Poetry

Kairomoan

Yuna Kang
issue four

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Only in swallow-quick increments: food,

love, laughter, the warmth: anything to allay the cold, the frost

binding heart to heart, sticking gum to miscellaneous ribs. It

was cold in the dark, cold in the night, cold even in parental 

embrace: and when the sun removed itself from shadow, you

had to grab it, swallow it quick: never-let-me-go, it

seemed to mourn. I don’t know how to stay. And

so we grasp, and grab, and mourn, and cry; fitful half-tears of the perpetually

repressed. Lucky to be alive, grasping. Lucky to only be half-hungry and

cooling in the soursweet night.