by Micah Marie Naadat
In Nami Island, the once bright green leaves of its redwood trees
Turned yellow for fall. You wrote to me,
“It is exceptionally beautiful here during autumn.”
I never understood decay, nor absence, nor longing, nor you. Only that in my hands, there was a half-forgotten box of postcards.
In Korea, they say, saudade.
A happiness that has passed, or perhaps, never even existed.
And when you finally left for good, I understood—
Salvador Dali reached his cottage by the sea,
And the gulls were confused to find rubble, where there was once, love.
I took the last train home.
At the back of a postcard from Bali, I wrote,
“There are certain places in the world that will make you want to believe in magic again. I hope that one day,
You arrive at the right place.”
THE BARRISTER 