☀ Today's Poem: "Old Bed" Ha Jaeyoun

Hanging on my sides there might be fig seeds somebody spat out millions of years ago, fine strands of dust cover me like a hand-woven blanket, for a while now when I try to remember the breathing of the land above that’s passed me by and the bright light shining down, my sides hurt

I’m not trying to say I’ve existed so long I can’t remember the quiet noon, the work of keeping the body open in cracks of time, dead skin flakes landing from the sky open with long travel day and night, the ceiling grows remote

Blue dust, fine-grained fungus, my good soil, the leaves and stems of the figs inside me reach infinitely into phone lines, across the universe, and at some noontime, they will lightly stroke a prone woman’s eyelashes. All the while I dream of that brilliant touch of the hand, all the while nobody visits me