or metal safe—heart of mine?

Bankers are wise:

“We’re unimaginably rich.

We didn’t have enough pockets

so we stuffed our safes.”

I have hidden

my love

inside you

like the riches

in the safe

and like a Greek king

I strut.

The entire poem is long, 13 pages total. They are aligned weirdly, texts too close to one another. I wonder if the photocopier messed it up? The indentation of the lines moves in and out, and the text size is inconsistent. After reciting on my own, I feel deflated and a little embarrassed. My heart gets heavier than a metal safe.

It’s time for me to go to school, so I hurry out, leaving a note on the desk.

Jimin, If you have time this evening, stop by at the café where I work. It’s on the way to the subway station, and it’s called Instant Paradise. Sometime between 6:30 and midnight. Don’t wait for me, they said they will feed me tonight. Enjoy your evening.

—Jeong Yeoul

* * *

This isn’t commuting, this is mountain climbing! The stupid college gobbles up our tuition, but can’t spit out a single shuttle bus for the students. Getting to the Humanities building isn’t too bad, though. I have a German Grammar class at 4:00 PM. I’ve skipped too many classes and am not sure I’ll keep going. I still haven’t turned in the paper for my Interpreting Literature class. Ah, my heart is not a safe full of love, but a shriveled organ rotting with anxiety and anger.

I walk by the café where I now work. Instant Paradise. I salivate at the thought of a free dinner. The sign is already lit. I hadn’t noticed, but the huge, hot-pink sign looks tacky and a little suggestive. Instant coffee, instant ramen, instant camera—what else is “instant?” My life? My disposable instant life! There is no past, no future; there is no previous life or reincarnation; there is no eternity. Just one disposable day after another, and then—GAME OVER! I wish life was made of a single day: today.

Jeong Yeoul! Let’s not get distracted by the past nightmares, or make any foolish long-term plans. Here and now. Today alone is overwhelming enough. A black plastic bag soars above my head. It’s majestic, like a raven midflight.

Zarathustra

Zarathustra

It’s been a week since I started working at Instant Paradise, but Jimin hasn’t stopped by, not once. I know she’s busy studying and writing poems, but it stings. When I get to her place after midnight, exhausted after a long day of work, she looks over her shoulder, avoiding me like I’m a pathetic prostitute. The past few days, she’s stopped nagging me. Stop working at that shady café. Read books.