Where did you abandon the snowflake on which I wrote my secrets?
A girl labelled comfort / wartime ammunition / recalled her father who built / her home on / a graveyard
I’m starting to believe in small magics like / astrology and sudden rain
“For Korean women writers, for whatever kind of poetry they want to write, I think this country has excellent soil for growing in any direction you want.”
Poet Don Mee Choi discusses the myth of fluency and what happens when translation is allowed to be hysterical
How scared God must have been / when the woman who ate all the fruit of the tree he’d planted / was cutting out each red body from / between her legs