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4min, super 8 transferred to digital, color, sound.

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This work is part of the film x poetry workshop organized by Counterclock in 2024. Fiona Jin, Sharyn Phu, and I worked on the poem together and I developed it as a film poem. Below is the link to the Patchwork website and the poem. 

the trains you are trying to catch are barreling toward you—

i, god of all homecomings & home to none:                        they always ask me where i’m going

in a station rotting with reachable ends,                             as if i—plural, uncountable—am not the heartbeat,

the wail of everything living like a warning siren                 thrumming underneath sand city & razed concrete

—i gorge on evidence of entropy:                                   tanghulu sugar slathered on a burnt solo cup

whiskers from the grand rat                                              1/32nd of someone’s favorite street jianbing

abandoned high-rise                                                     the tracks promising their philosophy of distance but

today cleaves me into steel expanse                                   worn tiles wish good morning and good night like how

TV mothers cry 今年回家吧 at the screen—                        prettily, penitently, scratched lottery tickets in hand,

& keep searching for the annual stillness,                               we set off our firecrackers, lay fruit on the shrines.        

still, fists gripping letters never sent,                                   my best friend says everyone wants to kill—something.

echoes of forgotten rituals                                              released, returning, i avoid

your prayers                                                                 speaking everything alive         

—i put on a human form, slip out the rails                               tangential to reverence

& i do not tell you what i’ve let die.

i pay my regards to 이촌동 bus stop,                                 i stop by my childhood: green paths, buzzing cicadas

consider the magpie, the school children                              follow me into 꿈나무 어린이공원 playground, swings rustle

my order of tteokbokki—i think it is too sweet,                       the water fountain cleanses the excess away,

araki nobuyoshi’s book left on the bench                              asks are lines and persons only real once seen?

—no, do not glance back at the decay:                          we’re like family here, until the old teapot gives out, &

tea leaves bite into rust;                                            every passenger has silently agreed upon

silence dragged from memory,                                       this dream that silhouettes a non-place you never told me;

another 新年 passes.                                                  i will continue believing in what doesn’t exist.

you, fading little by little until                                               by the time you arrive, you’ve almost evaporated.