Summer heat ripens apples, Autumn breeze turns them to cider. Sips of warm, spiced cider Wanders into the world I don’t know— I’m sure I’ll get lost, Maybe even scared. Who’s there— Aliens? Ghosts? A place to lose myself In the river of cider, Where bubbles carry answers.
Author: yennayi
I was born and raised in the South Korea and now I live in Massachusetts for the past 15 years after having lived in many different parts of the world. I work as a psychotherapist in my private practice. I just finished writing my memoir, "Ring of Fire" and waiting to be published.
Return Gift
Where are you? Here—filing 2025 taxes. We are made To send portion Of what we earn. Yearly dread— A cluttered table With Federal and State forms. Numbers line up, Finding places— No joy, a task. Finally, a refund. I hold it As if it knows What I’ve given.
Scissors
Sharpened scissors trim frayed corners, Fitting into yesteryears, Pasting moments— Shades of Korean, German, English. Memory words bloom, No lightning strikes silent “e”s. Scissors can’t cut language stone Reforming like ebb and tide. I keep pasting— Fractions to whole to pieces. Blue keeps bleeding. Do not peel the corners Where winters sleep. Even scissors rest. … Continue reading Scissors
Ring of Fire 