Hannah Seo is a Korean-Canadian young emerging writer and journalist based in New York City. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Barzakh Magazine, The Portland Review, The New Limestone Review and Open Minds Quarterly, among others.
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Untitled, despite my want
In the grand male tradition of naming, he called me dear. The name
was a gift of tenderness. Hearing it felt like the undulating
land beneath your feet as you step off a boat—ocean inside.
The latent pulse of reminded me of the waiting, the long and idling
undefinition. He named me sweet, and I felt like the sun: red hot
and dying. It was all very warm and specific. Every space
my body can spare is hollowed and wanting. As we walk I drift
and envision us as others might, our chatter an oceanic soundtrack
in the imagining. What does it mean when the mind occludes
the eye. What does it mean when it fails to protect the body,
when meaning comes after the choosing. The rain
tries to remind me that all a cloud is, is collection—and perhaps
I am. But it’s too late. I can, and will, burn my tongue for the sake of
an ideal. Mouth of ice, tasteless, even that feels like definition.