Origin Myth
I can see my beginnings
in this story: how I sleep
sprawled out, my impatience
with intricacy. I plundered
an inheritance as rich
as mugwort and garlic only to leave
the pitch-black cave with a slack jaw,
great paws stinking of the last waxy clove;
all that not worth
the desire to stand upright,
to hold something as delicate
as clean white rice in my mouth.
Tiger, I see. But what part
is Ungnyeo? How I cross my legs,
fold my hands, cover my mouth
to laugh? That bear turned woman
invented loneliness
under a sandalwood,
and still, I want to be her. Return
the sharp breath of stone un-sealing
the cave that night.
Push the fur like needles
back into my skin. Cut me open
so thinner lithe limbs can sprout
from the cuts. Leave me in the shade
of a tree so old it doesn’t care
what I always was.