To a Paternal Figure by Kate Choi (16, South Korea)*

The crack in the pitcher—you will say
that you do not remember it, but I do. 
We both know that what you say, it isn’t true.
If it was true you wouldn’t be able
to look at it even if you tried to, 
but you do, you do. ​

---

The crack in the pitcher has been taped up now,
though water still seeps and the pitcher weeps too.
If you tilt it and the beads collect, they fall
like tears, like tears, 
the salt would dissolve me before you. 

(It is good that it cries, or else I would have to,
and that would not do.
I have already wasted too many tears on you.) 

That night I tried to remember you— 
the videos where you’d ask and laugh 
How old are you, who are you? 
and I dreamed how high you flew. 
I was camera shy then
but grew out of it, you pulled me through 
the lens, it could not hold me or you. 

That night I tried to remember you, but
as I stared I couldn’t, I could only see this
other you— 
Big black eyes and a mouth 
so wide you could walk through. 

Your eyes, I thought they might fall out of you.
Your hands were far away from you 
in disembodied rubber gloves, the chair you threw,
with the pitcher that you remember--
you do, I know you do. 
You know you do but you look at it 
anyway and say not a word, I hear nothing from you. 

Every time the light flicks on and the water pours
​I flinch, afraid to see if we get through.
As I shrink and separate I don’t know what to do,
there is nothing for me that I can do but send this,
what would once have been a prayer, to you
and hope one day you say something too. 
​
The pitcher, it weeps and weeps for you.

​