When Mom passed away,
I realized that I didn’t know much about her. Not as my mom,
but as a living creature with her own dreams and frustrations.
Born as a woman in pre-modern Korean society, she was not allowed to live full
with her brilliant talent and potential.
All that’s left of Mom is her blouses and dresses most of which are all floral-patterned,
her all time favorite.
I grab those worn blouses and dresses in which a body once warm and aging, passionate and tender used to breathe.
I hang them against the backdrop of her backdoor forest and
let the wind and light pass through and dance upon them.
And now, not the wind but her little granddaughters put her blouses on.
Life is maybe just a few flutterings in the wind.
From 'nowhere' to 'now here', and vice versa, always oscillating in between.
While we are allowed to flutter, I wish the wind were less harsh
so that our little women could fly high and free.