“Over the Rim,” by Jina Song
It rained yesterday, Dad.
Thinner, more graceful
than Korean rain,
Baltimore rain wet my umbrella
and my nostalgia
for your beard
that I never touched
not because it had thorns or
I did not love you,
but I feared,
too shy maybe,
being your charming daughter.
I thought that was enough
to long for. Yet, your wrinkled
hands, waving
at the airport when I leave
you with grandma in Korea,
got rougher,
colder and whiter
though they’ve remained manly
in my small heart.
Under the rain yesterday,
while I was having a cup of coffee
at a café alone,
you suddenly called me at two
in the afternoon,
three in the Korean morning.
You told me you just drank
three cans of beer,
and that was all you said.
Did you remember to shave today?
You didn’t wear the same suit
you wore yesterday, did you?
I wanted to know how you’d been
or why you were up so late
but I couldn’t.
It rained yesterday, Dad.
It’s almost two in the afternoon.
Source: runawayparade.com
