a study of the mantis shrimp

this body breathes dizzying ultraviolets and looping

polarized light. in, out. easy as breath. they blind me, 

i am blind to them. the mantis shrimp holds

sixteen photoreceptors, inhaling and exhaling colors 

imaginary to me. and what is imaginary but invisible? 

still, the mantis shrimp disappoints, like all prayers do.

it can not, does not distinguish the gasping pigments 

dancing across its exoskeleton. sacrifices sight for

survival. why? when this vision is breathing? when it is

lungs alive with color? this body breathes. in, out. out.

Tteok (떡)

Half-eaten on my desk, gelatinous flesh 

puffed where the tines of the fork slid inside, 

is a rice cake. White and fluffy with three

lone mustard yellow seeds nestled inside. Like three

sore thumbs or three dull iron eyes. They taste

like rice cake.

Pinched like petals, flour

wilts like sorrow. The best flowers 

are sour. The half-

animals that bite into them

leave them half-eaten. They always leave

them. Strewn on the floor like

metaphor turned cannibal. This is our

last defense, this was

our last stand. We taste

like rice cake.

AN OBITUARY FOR MY FATHER

after Victoria Chang

Because you used to dream in chromatic figuration and now you forget your dreams when you wake up. Because the memory of them warms your hands like a cup of liquor you can’t keep down as you stumble through the door. Because your vision fails, as in it fails you, as in it betrays you. Because you wanted to create something. Leave this world something more than your grave. Press your thumb into the soft flesh of the earth and breathe. Where does our breath go? You pray it is not back into our lungs.

Alternatively: because you warm my curious hands when I wander out to the curious stars. Because you roll down the car window to the infinite sky so we can tip our heads back. Because you don’t flinch when I pluck black hair after gray hair after white hair. Because I know I will mourn you like you mourn yourself.

Haeun (Regina) Kim is a student writer from Seoul, South Korea. An alumna of the Adroit Journal Summer Mentorship, the Sewanee Young Writers’ Conference, and the Sunhouse Summer Writing Mentorship, she has been recognized by Bennington College, the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, River of Words, and more. Her writing has been published or is forthcoming in Rust and Moth, Stone Soup, and The Galway Review, among others. An editor at Polyphony Lit, she serves as the founder of MISO-JIEUM. When not writing, she can be found painting in an art studio or struggling through amateur ballet.