A City Like a Water-lily, Like an Optic Nerve
A city like a water-lily, less seen than reflected
—Claude Monet
I’ve been here for half a century
— do you see me?
I mean will you allow your optic nerves
to send electrical impulses
to your brain so it can transmit
images of me
not the disjointed default of admiring me
as a cardboard cutout
or shadow puppet
then you tell me your reflection is enough
my face passing through a tunnel or submerged in the acid
bath of your mind, a fickle kind of focus
as if etched by popsicle stick onto a subway
window
that’s not even real glass!
Well, better than on a candy wrapper.
Jiwon Choi is a poet, preschool teacher, and urban gardener. She is the author of three poetry collections. Her most recent book, A Temporary Dwelling, was published by Spuyten Duyvil. She started her Brooklyn community garden’s first poetry reading series, Poets Read in the Garden, to support local writers. She is an editor at Hanging Loose Press. You can find out more about her at iusedtobekorean.com.
