Seoul, 1988
- Feb 19, 2021
- 1 min read
by Joan Kwon Glass
Do you remember in 1988 when North Koreans dug tunnels toward Seoul? We lived in that high rise apartment with mom and our jittery chihuahua. Under the bed we forged a resistance.
Curious tourists can now ride a wobbly trolley through those border-blind tunnels from the 80s. Near the entrance they stand with one foot on either side of the DMZ. They take selfies.
I read that Earth spins faster today than it used to. Atoms pitch themselves across the hours and scientists wonder if the receding glaciers are to blame. What can be saved in a millisecond? What can be lost?
I want to step across the line, ride that subterrestrial train back to that day with you when we imagined the worst and decided to survive. I’ll slow the world down with my glacier of grief for a glimpse of your face in a dim passageway.
We’ll stay as long as we can.
Joan Kwon Glass is Poet Laureate (2021–2025) for the city of Milford, CT and a public educator of 20 years. She is a biracial Korean American who holds a B.A. & M.A. from Smith College & is Poetry Co-Editor for West Trestle Review. Her poems have recently been published in Rust & Moth, Rattle, SWWIM, Porcupine Lit, Literary Mama, Barnstorm, Poets Reading the News, South Florida Poetry Journal & others & she is working on her first full-length poetry collection. Joan has been nominated four times for the Pushcart Prize. She tweets @joanpglass and you may read her previously published work at www.joankwonglass.com.
