Our Homeland We Call Home
I stand. The world in my hands,
I hold no fear. My hands are trembling
as I tape the ripped corners of your picture
into one ragged piece that doesn’t seem right
no matter how I arrange them.
Wrinkled due to the passage of time.
Contaminated with round coffee stains
on your paper-white skin, through which I can
easily trace your veins, the map to your
glass heart. Torn, exposing the corruption
so well layered under an aesthetic picture.
Broken, like the promises you had made.
My hands are trembling. I wish to say it’s fear
but I can’t. Some brutal thing much like your nature.
I’m trying to speak—
drowning in the multitudinous sea of words.
Give me a moment. No, give me a couple.
Give me an eternity and maybe I’ll be able to come
up with the perfect word. I wish to know,
but I’m only a lost child.
There is a train headed to your homeland.
Left at 6:30 in the morning already. This
is our homeland we call safety. This
is our homeland we call freedom. I wonder,
how can safety and freedom coexist
if there are forces beyond our control
keeping us in control? I want to say:
choose one. Pessimist, you call it, but I know
I forced the ragged pieces to form a whole but
incomplete picture. A picture that would never
represent itself at its foundation.
This is our homeland we call home.
By Jimin Lee
Jimin Lee is a Korean-American writer living in Seoul, South Korea. As a published author on various platforms, her fiction and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in Crashtest Magazine, The Daphne Review, and The Rising Phoenix Review, among others. She is the founder and Editor-In-Chief of The Ideate Review, a literary magazine that recognizes works of creative writing and art relating to global issues and identity. In addition, she is an alumnus of the Juniper Institute for Young Writers. She enjoys learning about the world around her and writing about it.