Sorting through these pictures from Dublin and Venice,
anticipating the next more and more,
I received an email
from a friend
who had just married in Seoul.
And I was not there.
His pictures went like a thief
into my heart
and stole the anticipation.
They left me conflicted
and I remembered
that was Korea for all those years.
It was conflict of emotion, a bitter, beautiful conflict
between head and heart, heart and home,
my best friends’ wedding I couldn’t attend,
the joy on their faces, their bated breath as
they whisper into each other’s ear,
those toothy grins,
my conspicuous absence.
He couldn’t attend my wedding
for the same reason,
but being Romantics,
we both understood.
Perhaps it was better that way,
fodder for a future story.
And yet,
in the perfect focus of adulthood,
I sadly smile
thumbing through these pictures
of their perfect day,
and stories are the furthest thing
from my mind.
I just husband
this wonderfully complex
melancholy
for this lonely hour
of darkest morning;
my
heart
drifts
towards Seoul
once
again
like a
supple tree
in
the
monsoon
wind.