The Last Persimmon of Winter

The fiery orb is a vision. Perched high above the heads of passing silhouettes it stares back into a black landscape sketched out by the fresh snow. The ornament on the grey tree unnoticed. It sits lonely on a branch illuminated by the adjacent streetlight. Snow falls gracefully unaffected by its presence, just as it has seemed unaffected by the weather for all these months.

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Watch’s Digging

The watch itself is a noticeably large rock of a watch attached to my wrist. If I was ever attacked it would be a deterrent with its sheer size alone. It never comes off except the once a month it needs to be charged. I shower with it.

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Yecheon Blues

This is what I’ve come to know Korea as and on these mornings this yellow pours out across the landscape coloring my world. It’s like a time-worn photograph that I’m trapped in; This is Korea to me. My hands escape inside my coat pockets so they don’t turn a deep purple in this cold bus. I press my nose down into my scarves and close my eyes.

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