- Esther Kim
Quarantine tasting sour
Updated: Dec 31, 2020

means we escape
to the mountain every day. Johda is
a chorus, swallowed
by the horizon on Monday,
caught in the mouths of forsythias
on Tuesday. It’s been a while
since I sensed good. The last time,
the four of us seated miles
above the ocean, pressing our fingers
to the windows—a thousand prayers
to Seoul. Tonight, we bow
to the east, translate
the news into pieces
more languid, edible—
we cannot mouth
the star-spangled prose
of this land of the free.
Sixteen years of folding
into ourselves—when can we leave?
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