The Best Day for Folding Clothes and Other Poems

By Yoon Park

The Best Day for Folding Clothes

is on a second Wednesday when
the radio plays its 1 p.m. classics
mother’s favorite dvorak
and when the window is open,
so that the room can breathe
as I do.

I first separate father’s socks,
match them at the end before
a turn inside out to hide the ugly
sewn scars. Threads sticking out
here and there, mother said they remind her of
mismatched, dirty drapes; juxtaposed. The pants—
I tuck in the pockets before anything else.
I fold them by quarters,
the way that mother prefers so that
they fit seamlessly in the dressers.
Skirts and dresses I straighten the
wrinkles on the laces and fold them
in half.

I match them. Turn the arms
in. Drape them on my lap—
then half, and half again. Match them
by the seams. And sort the socks by
            socks, and the towels
on top of the other ones. 

The World Went Crazy for a While

The world went crazy for a while. Over
This girl that they called their Queen, who vowed to
Rule this nothing town. Put on a 
Crown as they reached for her feet, kissed them, and thousands of
Throats screamed. She burned like a gin and as she
Cried and cried they
Cheered with their lips on her skin and licked her salty tears, and so I asked,
	“is the world a little blurry or is it just my eyes?”
So she escorted me to her low-key hideaway, and
I was confused when they pried her heart open
Black ooze and spiders spilled out, her blood pumped by
Little people, pushing her valves open
With puppet’s strings—
But the world cheered and screamed her name, her crown stayed
On her head. Doctors then
Showed me the color of eyes; fifteen flares of color, of
Burning cities and napalm skies that dis
integrated her fragile mind. 
I shrugged, I didn’t get it
So sat up and she told me,
	“maybe we should just try to tell ourselves a good lie.”

My Brain is Going Awooga

The slide has a 45-pound weight limit.
The slide has a 45-pound weight limit and
It smells like wet grass sprayed with hose and a 
soaked purple Ariel swimsuit; magical mermaid ruffles that
Cling
to a six-year-old’s stomach as the plastic of the shared princess kiddie pool
squeaks underneath the smooth of her skin. no matter how plastic
The slide has a 45-pound weight limit and
has strong fingerprints on its sides from the peach fingers that held on for

Dear Life,
Until she has the courage to sit on the top of the slide on her own.
because for her that’s high but
It’s hers to use and she does not care
if her cousin urges her to move; pineapple popsicle melting. sticky fingerprints
clinging to the handles and six-year-old doesn’t need any.
The slide has a 45-pound weight limit and 
in winter it is the best place for hide and seek,
When its underbelly is frozen and the worms are no longer in their hidey-holes and
Even the cold is pressed upon her cheek she doesn’t care because
she is not found.
The slide has a 45-pound weight limit,
and the slide does her no limits and she isn’t
cut off.

Yoon Park is a dynamic high school student enrolled at Seoul Academy in Seoul, South Korea. She channels her creative energy into writing and visual art and finds joy in expressing herself through these mediums. Additionally, she has a passion for music and spends her spare time playing the piano. Her dedication to her craft has earned her recognition and admission into the prestigious Sewanee Young Writers Conference.