Burgos Circle has never been this calm.
Circular road surrounds the park, forming
a center island of the magnificent sculpture,
The Trees, the bronze grove of three interconnected
trees that had become our shed.
Today, no school bus fumes black smoke; no one steps on
green plants; no dog leaves its trace on tree roots.
Coffee shops and bars and steak houses
are now under a cloud of dust.
Only a few cars vibrate along the road
wheeling against dry fallen leaves.
We don’t get awaken in the middle of the night
from the echo of the nearby club’s music, but we also let go of
the night walks into the dark streets around which only cats now roam.
my mother thinks about a new menu for the next meal,
constantly chopping kimchi on a wooden board.
The smell of samgyetang pulls my body out of the bed
toward the window that paints the lines extending
in front of nearby grocery stores. On their faces, a mask, and
a thulian stain on their cheeks underneath,
the residue of dry paint flaking off.
Seyoung Kwon loves to fly kites on windy days and in summer, she spends time eating ice cream outdoors, especially in the park while walking her Pomeranian named Hodu. She enjoys writing in her free time with her favorite Starbucks drink, and her poem was once published on the Heritage Review.