Hair plastered to my mouth; virid leaves drowned to cracks in the road

And waxy crayon sank into cement like a sob.

ersatz memories 

By Olivia Shin

A year and ten summers passed me by 

I, reflected in the tall windows that surround high-rise buildings, drink 

The sun cracked into oxtail soup melting cloudy, wispy mornings 

Ladled up into my head 

A piping hot memory broth. 

In July, rains slithered down the hills– fat tears preceding wrathful downpours 

The mountains keeled over with a great heave 

Hair plastered to my mouth; virid leaves drowned to cracks in the road 

And waxy crayon sank into cement like a sob. 

There were languorous days too; warm shadows crisscrossing the room 

I lay on my back behind a watchful old couch, to see 

Fluttering telephone lines that kiss the wood floors 

And the air conditioner that whistles with a bright blue grin. 

I am American. 

But the sparrows in Seoul, 

They don’t seem to know; not by my long shorts-hands-folded-hair-crumpled shirt 

Not by my couldn’t-care-less-don’t-know-maybe-so attitude 

Or by the look I give them. A long-awaited “homecoming.” 

The bus driver announces the next stops 

From his mouth drop round honey syllables, tongue flat, teeth hidden, warm barley tea 

A middle-schooler behind me slips in earbuds, voice low under the rattle of the handles 

I try to laugh a Korean laugh, click selfies, fingers, lips 

Everyone stared; how unrefined! 

That day– every day– they sprawl across the sidewalk like cats. 

“They” as a collective, seeking to belong among the shiny hair wispy bangs beige academy tote 

Bubblegum, lip-glossed, black baseball-capped 

Girls in loose gray sweatpants 

Girls in white starched uniform tops, not quite see-through in this weeping heat 

But instead it’s me, so transparent 

That even the visor-sporting ajummas on the corner don’t see me. 

Between mile-high skyscrapers I used to crane up towards crumbling stars, dark and smoked 

with overseas pollution, shining across the Han river 

Now we’re miles from the coast, hills rolling to the end of the horizon 

Yet this atmospheric sea is beyond belief– blindingly, dazzlingly, soul-crushingly Californian. 

Really, though, who am I to talk? 

About the Author...

Olivia Shin is a junior at Maria Carrillo High School. She is an editor for Polyphony Lit, and the proud owner of a second-hand typewriter that annoys her family when she writes at night. When she is not studying or going down various rabbit-holes, she also enjoys playing the violin and reading classic novels. In her opinion, the world could use a bit more whimsy at any given moment.

About the Artist...

Colson Gomez is a Senior at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. She has begun to dabble in embroidery and fiber arts, though her heart lies with drawing and painting.