Pond
In the deep inside
of Kum Kang Mountain
a crystal clear pond
lies hidden from the eyes of mortals.
ON the night of the 7th full moon,
maidens from heaven descend here
At Walden, I look into the water. The smooth surface of a giant mirror, the forest growing downward, taller and slenderer. Beneath, the sky with the clusters of clouds drifting about. Then the gentle waves move and distort reflections, blurring the thin line between my fancy and reality: in the white folds of waves I glimpse the flowing feathery veils of heavenly maidens.
“I come to my solitary woodland walk
as the homesick go home.”
—Thoreau—
In Frankfurt, Germany, there was a small pond hidden in the park behind a Zoo. The park remained open at all hours to the public. After the Zoo was closed, hardly anyone came there. I used to go to sit by the pond and listen to the tiger’s roar. The pond was protected by the brick wall from exposure and noises of streets. On its bank stood a lone willow tree.
I was often homesick. sitting by the pond was like “going home.” The willow tree reminded me of home.
Growing up in Korea, in my village I had neither willow tree nor pond, and certainly I never heard of a tiger’s roar. Our common lot had drawn us together. I was away from my home
and culture; the tiger in the cage; the willow tree and the pond in the midst of concrete skyscrapers. I never revealed to anyone of my visits to this pond.
published in Constellations, volume 9, Fall 2019