After a thunderstorm,

I hear a bird sing out,

deepening in the night— 

a black electric guitar,

a steady drumming.

Time seems to move sweetly,

slowly, at times,

rapidly. I am found at the cool edges

of a hot country.

I have been noticing my greed,

my longing to scratch

my itchy body, my tenderness.

I was once a little girl fevered

and sick in a bedroom

with cold feet, dreaming

of a glass of water.

Paused between notes

within a song, I am seeking refuge

with you as the stillness

purifies my bitterness.

My car broke down 

on a highway. A white man offered 

to push me

off to the side of the road.

I recognize

my vulnerability. I am an imperfect

friend, a marsh plant,

a water festival,

water from the east,

emerging through a cleared space.

Note: This poem includes and alters language from the Encyclopedia of Korean Seasonal Customs: Encyclopedia of Korean Folklore and Traditional Culture Vol. I by the National Folk Museum of Korea (South Korea) and with the executive editing of Cheon, Jingi (Director of the Folk Research Division).