Simon Kim


You said my name quietly

after I kicked over a newspaper stand

the air was wet & not enough

I woke up today & the sky was gray

solid & blank like another ceiling

another poem that is & isn't about you

parents & what we must accept from them

violence the necessary unceasing present

the insistent receding of everything

bats flutter out across the evening

but we can't hear them

little fish come up for morsels

a bundle of prairie weeds

an unknown monarch on a coin

oil of oregano burning the throat

a barn collapsing over many winters

pizza boxes are not recyclable

hellhounds lurk sniffing the breeze

wet towels on the bathroom floor

in korean there is only one word

for the colors blue & green

your eyes are blue but you eat a lot of vegetables

I told the uber driver that I have so much anger

the lake was like a thoughtfully folded napkin

cranes in the sky construct condos

a friend told me when they broke up

her boyfriend said that he wanted to murder his father

I said I know exactly how he feels

after work I cried about what a terrible feeling

that is to be able to have with someone


Simon Kim lives in Chicago with his cat, Prince. He also tweets @walcum.