Village
Translated by Jeanine Walker and
Shim Jaekwan
The forsythia bush
bends its fingers to catch the darkness.
Fingertips like ten small,
black moons holding eggs.
If you go into the forsythia bush,
the heads of rats imprinted with
cat teeth.
If you go further inside the darkness,
rat legs spit out by the cat,
tattered legs moving slightly.
The heads of the rats,
their short and broken legs,
hold onto the darkness
preparing to leave for somewhere.
I call this kind of animal my village.
I call this kind of animal my village.
Translated from the Korean
