June Son
On my
eighteenth birthday or sometime
around
then I spilt bile and lime juice and all the water
in the
oceans probably weighs
nothing
to a man who knows which
rope to
pull. What light meant
and who
decided its definition is
misty the
night you stared at the decaf
like it
was going to talk you out of it.
Somebody’s
nephew and ideal
handholder
and flushed ion looking
to pair
infinitely, again and twice
or three
times pored over kind
partings
like bible study. I enjoy
tea
steeped repeatedly until it’s
clear.
That way you know what you’re
getting.
Therefore I enjoy feeding
it to my
guests. My coat was
brown. It
never kept me warm.
Formerly
a resident of Vancouver Island/a student at Tufts, June Son was drafted to the
South Korean Army last year. He now serves as a gunner of a K1E1 main battle
tank for the armored reconnaissance battalion of the Eighth Mechanized Infantry
Division (just a half hour tank ride, a decent afternoon walk away from the
North Korean border). His work recently appeared on Thimble Literary Magazine.
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