Six Poems by Choi Young-mi

Monster

Don't sit next to Enthe poet K warned me, a literary novicehe touches young women whenever he sees one

forgot K's advice and sat next to EnMe toothe silk blouse borrowed from my sister got rumpled

at a publisher's end-of-year receptionI shouted to Entouching a married editor next to him    "you sly old bastard!"I dared slam him, senior by thirty years, and ranif En threw a beer glass at memy new black vest would get ruined,so I rushed to leave right away A prolific poet, he published hundreds of poetry collections,    "En is a tap. The water running out of him    is all shit, however."(in women-only small talk) the novelist Park used to scorn himbut then silenced herself when En became a monster

Poor peopleunaware of how dirty the water in their mouths is

every time he is named a frontrunner for the Notel prize    in literature¹I tell myself that I shall leave this countryif he happens to win it,I no longer want to live in this shitty world

After growing a monsteris it possible to catch a monster

Paper Poisoned

Upon receiving a plea filed by the courtI become the fifth defendant

thick documents without page numberswhy do I have to read them?

I wrote a mere poemand now am ordered to read this hundred-page text

in neither beautiful nor exciting prose,lacking commas,head-aching,and embodying hatred but nonetheless in full sentencesthat draw to an end politely.I have no interest in reading the paper poisonedalthough it would taint my beloved drawer,I put down the plaintiff and the fifth defendant on it, and well,

the battle has just begunlet's eat something first.

Muddling Pain

They, aiming at me with a knife,could not dare to touch the tiniest piece of my soul

I did not bleedI did not let my tears down, but

muddling pain is the most unbearable

In the Name of Women

Not I but weNot you but weSay we, even if you don't want to be that 'we'

it is we who are cleaning and feeding this worldbut we have to sit at the foot of the tablewhen those we clean and feedlet us downwe have to endure thembe patient,that's what my mother taught me

those whom we feed, wash, and soothewe wait for themarmed with compliancewords unpronounced.dream shattered.silence over a millennium.

in the name of a motherin the name of a wifebeing a servant or even a doll

until he, they, abandon uswe dare not abandon themuntil they leave us, we are not even allowed to leave firstthings that happened to us yesterday andalso to young girls todaysomewhere on this planet

Not a motherNot a wifelet's write our history in the name of women

Not a motherNot a wifelet's see the world through women's eyesonly then does this tilted world get untilted

murmurs come outwhile a voice leads to anotherbreaking the wall of silence

beyond fearthere is a wonder where I become 'we'a miracle that might not shine itself,but might nonetheless be a star to another

On the Way to a Café

The wind takes mepushes me

to move forward, forwardwithout much effortto walk ahead

If I had lived like thisas the wind tells meI would have ended up elsewhere, not here

It is amazing that the wind leaves no mark whileswallowing the dust on the streetpulling my hairnipping my neck

Enticed by the heartwarming aromaof a freshly baked loafI am running to the café in joy

My destination isethiopia sidamo.holding...