This is the final Yoon Yong poem. I am in the process of writing a proper analysis/epilogue about the poem, as requested by a couple of loyal readers. I hope to have it done by next week.
Thank you for reading these poems. If anyone who would like these poems sent to them as a whole, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org & I’ll sort this out for you.
The weather keeps her
…As the clouds tear open like a nail ripping open a vinyl-house
the rain in sheets colour the landscape grey
—graphite thatching in the sketches Sarang makes.
Quickly the fields flood | biblical waters spewing onto the road
—from nowhere a mudslide crashes through a wall
colliding with her flank flipping the car into a farm’s culvert.
She recovers herself | wipes blood from her lip
& manages to wriggle free of her seat belt
stumbling into the knee deep mud | the reservoir of debris
that was the road—her hands cushioning her body's collision
with the mud which without her knowing | steals her wedding ring |
she is stranded
— why do I feel so free?...