Twenty Lines to Freedom

One listens for hours, patiently waiting her turn, before heading
to Sucheon to play outside with her Dad. Another busses home
to make or eat fried or boiled kimchee-fish soup; then there’s Su,
hopping, joyous, life-changed, spiritual, philosophical, knowing
one day the support needed will return; already this or that angel
has stopped at her doorstep, sometimes talking, sometimes smiling,
she knows the best will come. Silver bicycle, oversized pink trunk
and the smell of fresh-baked-goods mingle here. Brick walkways
lead lookers, lovers, lost souls past each other, and Ding Yun, the
one who, twenty three messages later, sticks with it, though with
lowered expectations, not ever giving in to today, always focused
on a better tomorrow. One will fiddle for Hyuntay, another only
wants life abroad, her boyfriend could not meet family expectations,
yet her mother nods in a room her father isn’t in. Now the two faces:
one wants a comfy job at the Korean Exchange Bank, the very best,
Wood’s wish, will stop by for modeling time tomorrow, a wonderful
tomorrow, with long-hairs walking by, work-out sweaters bobbing,
museum visitors moving in a slow rhythm reserved for interested
eyes, old legs, young minds, tuned to a complex life available within
a ten minute walk or bus ride from the Chonnam faculty apartments.