It creeps up on me as the judge grills.
I search in my heart for the right answer,
for having failed as a good daughter.
Being so far away, seeing her sporadically,
the pink-flowered Hanbok she made
for me for the first day of my kindergarten,
the warmth of her hand that held mine,
in the deep ocean of memory,
I weep, wishing I could go back and
give her a hug.
What was born of the old selfishness?
Nothing, not a thing, except, gaining
some insight to see beyond ordinary.
This dragon fire had not melt even
a little sliver of the ice of the world pain,
merely flying ’round, singing the song
like a bird heard by few.
Let the salt water brim the eyes,
listening to her soothing voice,
and I learn to be reborn.
©Byung A. Fallgren