‘Poetry & Prose by Poet, Cheolsung Lee’


We named the child 
in her womb “winter”
because it is winter.
We call the child Winter, Winter
the desolate fields and pine trees of winter
are inside my wife’s womb.

Soon when it is spring
Our child’s name becomes spring.
When we call the child Spring, Spring
we’re sure to hear a stream of melted snow
murmuring in her womb.
The tears of my wife, soaked by the spring rain,
drip down under the eaves of the house.

In the summer,
Our child Summer comes into the world.
The woods are overgrown
and the air is stifling in midday,
but my wife is happy.
She stops crying and
gets ready to go out into the world.
I suppose she will hold Summer in her arms and walk in the pine grove.
I am really jealous
of my wife, who holds the seasons in her arms.

printed in The Street Where the Pipa Boy Disappeared.