the both of us animal-soft in
a derelict parking lot. 5:14am & the
radio spits static. coming down at the end of
the night, it’s an afterparty, a
sickening sort of voyeurism. it’s all
the scenes from those coming-of-age
movies where the camera pans
out & afterwards you understand everything
but now it’s just us & the smallest god
we know—nothing to see here, move
along. move along.
the world spins on its lithium-colored
axis. the storytellers all agree,
everything is the same story once
you get to the rotten core, the apple
-sliced desire of it. & in the afterglow,
history forgives many things. swallow the city
open-mouthed, dear. the fact of the
matter is, any one of us can be unraveled
noisemake. we search for light.
all we are asking for is to uncover the
truth, to leave a handprint on the
wall that matters, to say, i exist
i exist i exist
before the camera catches
up to us.
By Eunice Kim
Eunice Kim is a Korean-American writer living in Seoul. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Polyphony, The Heritage Review, Vagabond City Lit, and more. She currently works as a staff reader for The Adroit Journal and a volunteer writer for Her Culture.