Fire in the Hearth

Fire in the Hearth
Yong Wan Choi 03.19.09

When I was small and firewood burned under the iron pot
mother was burning letters and weeping
I, who couldn't live a day without mama,
that was the day I came to see mama's heart
the story sunk in every teardrop in the firelight
flowed down in the thick kitchen smoke

the smell of rice to a hungry boy wrapped around the memories
the letters in the jewel box kept inside the mirror
a maiden's shyness when her heart first swelled and pounded
faces so dear that parting felt like dying
the stories and laughter quietly exchanged
under the pot of cooking rice, as black charcoal,
were crackling, stirring up the flames
waving back with regret as they went
mama's handwritten dreams in the fire
and from the top of the chimney the evening smoke
vanished, following the white clouds
at a sad turn on life's road
where you must throw away to keep, once,
for a future only mama could bring about
she changed into flowered underclothes

as though no one knew, down to the last drop dried by the heat
she scooped plump rice from the pot with the paddle
and that night set the supper table for papa and the children