About the Feature
Photo by Pedro
The courier asked if I was back
but he knows I refuse to harvest.
I only collect, marred by yellow
wages and groves and writing
waves of mercy, heat, or radio.
I tend, in fact, to catch fractions
to avoid storms of light, my fault
lines. The courier relies on moths
to yell into windows and singe
assorted chains, so I’m married
to his manner of retrieval, reliefs.
What I do is wait, mainly, leave
candles writhing until I know
this: to sow, punish, yes, to
mask such that it looks as it is.
About the Author
Cindy Juyoung Ok lives in Iowa City, Iowa, teaching undergraduate poetry writing and working as a direct services advocate for sexual assault survivors. Recent poems can be found in such journals as Conjunctions, Bennington Review, and Jubilat.