GB Archway
A foreign land, England.
In a hidden corner of Archway, I secretly peek my face out
In the season when flowers begin to bloom.
My housemates:
An Australian couple, a Japanese woman, two Korean women,
And my close Italian brother.
Still, when the moon-flower blooms at night,
Without fail, the two of us face each other over drinks.
My Italian brother fills my hungry, empty glass,
And I comfort his sorrow with my song.
It was a mundane day.
Leaving all of this behind,
I still get ready to head outside.
Archway, still dominated by the bleakness of dark shadows.
Today, again, I surrender a cigarette to a youth
Who is far younger than I am.
Sometimes, I even surrender my precious MP3 player,
The one with six months of installment payments left.
And sometimes, they gift me a flash of lightning.
Striking my jaw from behind,
While I am dazed for a moment,
Someone approaches like a camera flash,
Smirks, and vanishes.
Yet, I still held onto dreams and hope.
That with a beautiful, pretty English woman,
I would proudly cross this Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Three months passed like that.
Now, even our sanctuary has been broken into five times.
They smash the fences, snap the flowers we cherished,
And steal everything away, leaving only the scent behind.
Even though it was a place where Italian and Australian couples lived,
Though we reported it, the police brothers who arrived five hours later
Merely took notes, glanced around the house, and said,
"Good luck!"
Then they vanished into thin air.
Still in the late afternoon,
I head out toward the bus stop as always.
By chance, two blonde women decorated with gold and jewels
Seem to pass right in front of me.
For a moment, a line from Shakespeare crosses my mind:
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
Like goddesses, the two of whom seem to rule near the bus stop,
Walk past with majestic dignity.
In that instant, the time and space in front of me warped.
In a moment of dead silence, an English woman speaks to me:
"Have you got ten paper?"
(For the first time in a year, an English woman, not me, spoke to me first.)
In another instant, the time and space in front of me warped a second time.
In another moment of dead silence, the other woman speaks to me:
"F*** Y"
(For the first time in a year, her friend, not me, spoke to me first.)
In the end, as time and space failed to overcome absolute time,
That beautiful hand, stained like a lovely flower, turned to stone
And struck my neck.
(For the first time in a year, I felt as though an English woman was gently wrapping her soft hand around my neck.)
The moment I was about to fall backward,
The closed shutter hiding behind the bus stop
Caught me firmly.
The people around who watched me from a distance and smirked—
A man who looked Asian, smoking deeply and intensely—
Glanced at me for a moment, then turned his head toward the approaching bus.
I headed straight to my destination, the All Souls Church downtown.
The grand, colossal music greeted me,
And I, too, paid my reverence, fell to my knees,
And prayed.
"Lord! Why on earth are You answering my prayer only now?"
"Thank You so very much."
It felt as though You were subtly asking me,
"What are you, that an English woman would speak to you first?"
"To tell you the truth, Lord, two women more beautiful than a summer's day
Said to me, 'Living abroad is hard, isn't it? Cheer up!'
And they embraced me with their sweet words and gentle touch!"
The Lord before me, His face turning as red as a radish,
Stained my tears and my running nose in deep crimson.
"Amen."
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