after the rain stopped pounding,
we stood in the veranda watching vendors walk
down the hill pushing wheelbarrows, balancing
baskets on their shoulders. I remember you had
left the house in your raincoat, walking farther into
the misty rain as you promised to be back before
the milk ajumma. I had closed my eyes, and when
I woke, the city was engulfed beneath a layer of
darkness and your side of the bed remained cold.
In Pohang today, I do not hear anything else, but
the thundering rain outside, muddy rainwater
receding through the gates and tiles we stood on,
and I wonder if it's the pouring rain that’s softening
your voice, or if you're not speaking to me at all.
Downstairs in the kitchen I can hear the front door
creak to the flow of water flooding the house. I am
now in the veranda searching the road for you, but
before, I hear footsteps of the uyu ajumma receding
behind me. I watch as your black raincoat drifts down
puddles in our street, breaking our promise so easily.
Amy Lee is a fourteen-year-old student who is currently attending International School of Manila. During her free time, she likes hanging out with her friends and reading books while listening to music. Her works have been accepted in Eunoia Review, Uppagus, and others.