Читать книгу Collage of Seoul - Jae Newman - Страница 10

I am free

cut loose from

the branches of the Mother Tree,

surrendered

to the fostered fingers of a silver bird.

I was nine

when I found you, planted,

arms part of an unreachable sky.

Running alone at dusk,

I cried for your attention

the single time in my life

pointing at a bloody shin.

I wanted you to see

what a snapped-back branch had done to me.

On a hill in the woods, I wiped blood away

until all the leaves were red, then

stood up, your roots quivering

as I kissed the bark, gripped an ax.