Poetry: “Ars Poetica for a Non-Native Speaker” by Meg Kim
Ars Poetica for a Non-Native Speaker
My father, fresh out of residency,
was placed in a Koreatown branch of Cedars
in an initiative to extend their service
to the neighborhood.
He had the right face, the right stale
sounds crowning his molars.
Service is what I said.
He translated, profit.
I haunt the alleys
of all my failures praying
for the virtue of precision.
He stayed a year in Koreatown,
with one other Korean physician. Neither
bought groceries there, neither dreamed
there in the dark. The branch folded.
Market was saturated, he said.
Not: a conversation entered me and found me unlivable.
It is so easy to be the dull blade
bloodying the thumb of another.
Last year, my father sent me
a whetstone for my birthday.
I understood
what was required of me.