Songdo and Other poems

By Karen Lee

Songdo

There stands the tittered fence of my school,
Covered in leaves and wires, now only coming up to my shoulders, 
Still low enough for us to toss our bag and jump over after the bell rings. 

I take a few steps and reach the old Korean snack bar,
With the same grandmother, muttering why we came again, but
Giving us the extra scoop of rice cakes that filled the cup for only 2 dollars,
Staying with her old plastic chairs that never stand up. 

I walk past the old, 4 story building with the door ripped off,
Downstairs to my favorite pc room where I stayed all day,
Playing games with my friends, hiding from my parents;
Upstairs to the study hall where I ran to once a week
To get school materials that I had forgotten.  

And as the sun falls I reach the wood that stands as the bus station,
With its stains and its weathered green paint,
Now peeled off with brown rust tarnished underneath, 
And I stand, shifting from foot to foot,
Waiting for my ticket home. 

Protect

Amidst the veil of the forest green,
Where ancient trees towered together in a mystical land,
The unspoken presence, the serene harmony,
The bond with nature, all existed in routine.
The earth breathed life as the creatures danced,
With a grace that could sting and a lewk that nothing could compare,
There existed a force of life that nothing could tear.
It was a beacon of hope, a vision of beauty, a dream of peace,
Greater than copernicium. 

But outside this haven, as there always is,
A darkness crept with a thirst for power and a hunger that consumed.
The dox on this world led to a clash of worlds,
A battle of fate, a fight for survival against the greed of mankind,
Far greater than what could be imagined in the makerspace. 
But at the end, a glimmer of hope shone, 
As the heart of nature, the bond that sustains, is greater than any bro-ey,
And leaves a legacy of harmony between creatures and the earth. 
This is what we have to fight to protect.

It was the Dimple. 

One strand, two, three, a hundred
Are cut
Along the beautiful line the scissors weave through
Leaving a new, decorated me
On the seeing glass.
A new choice accompanied with excitement
And fear. 

At my desk, sitting next to the cold window,
I take my pencil on a journey 
Scratching the paper,
And at the end the voice in my head tells me
That I have grown. 
The challenges, the nights spent crying,
And the friendships I pushed away,
All of this
Will shape who I become. 

And I don’t know what it was - 
The slight scent of perfume as he walks by,
The piece of hair that sticks out by his hair,
Or the left dimple whenever he smiles
- that pushed me, head first, in love.
And eventually I caught myself smiling
At my new school, 
I don’t know what it was, but I had fallen
In love. 

Karen Lee is a student at Chadwick International in Seoul, South Korea, who has an unquenchable passion for both writing and drawing. In preparation for her future academic endeavors, she is diligently compiling her writing portfolio and has recently received an acceptance to Iowa Young Writer’s Studio, a distinguished program that identifies and nurtures emerging writing talent.