ARMY Magazine - Special Issues ARMY Magazine Namjoon Special Edition | Page 40

The Sad Heart of Ruth
I saw a woman sitting on the bus
reading a poetry book,
when abruptly
she looked up from the page
to implore the View outside the window
to give her something.
Instead, the View glibly retorted:
“Tell me, what behoves you?”
She shook her head and insisted,
“Give me something, something…”
and stared hard at the View.
How was the View like? you might ask.
Probably the very sunny and windy type,
where flowers of snowfall are swarming
the air around like tulle;
from the trees, the contrails, people’s
laughter
and they pester your eyes ticklingly.
There were wet petals in her eyes —
fallen and trodden on by footsteps in
the rain;
her eyes were deflowering
because today was such a good day,
because it had been a while since she
had such a good day.
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I approached her with misplaced care,
“I know we’re all asking questions here,
so I’m sorry to ask one more, but are
you happy?”
She turned towards me, scarified,
couldn’t stop herself from giving a short
laugh.
“It’s not as simple as that…
I think it’s the small but certain things
that help,
the unwavering kind, you know
like recalling his heart-shaped smile
while lying down on a grassy hill after
a long day’s work.
Or this right here! Crying on a bus
reading poetry.
After all how far could the ride last
without poetry?
Or unknowingly finding hazelnut in a
chocolate croissant
bought to not let the cashier down.
But lately —
wrists. Wrists have been on my mind.
It was when she persistently grasped my
wrists with both her hands
as if to measure the life within these thin,
translucent, jade roots,
saying, with barely restrained intimation,
I want to take you away!
That night I dreamt
he faintly clasped my wrist
as if enveloping a lost voice in hodden grey,
to say he fully accepts all that is me
and wants to protect it.