By Wonjun Na
Rearing around an empty field in an old
Volkswagen, I look out through a fogged window,
but all I see is strings of sunlight splitting
through spots of gray. Why, here, is the winter brown?
No soft leaves, just dried moss and brittle plates
bracing onto elms layer an empty path— mist
over sunlight; silence, but the ground is full. My
image of this place still, trying to merge into a landscape
so similar to itself, as if it weren’t the same— I keep stilled
images of my grandfather, not in memory but behind the
scent of his clothes, like a flashlight drawn before a lens;
Wonjun Na is a 14 year old boy living in South Korea, he has been writing for a few years, but this is his first time submitting to the public. In his free time he likes to play baseball and soccer with his friends.
Hot Pot Magazine 