Martyr Mother Skin
Once, a tiger promised / a mother / that it wouldn’t eat all of her / if she surrendered a finger / here or an arm there. The mother promised / herself that she wasn’t succumbing / she was biding / her time. / They are both liars. / She dies / for her beliefs. / Is this what a martyr is?
The tiger slips into martyr / mother skin. / Waves it like a banner stained / with red saliva. It knocks on splitting wooden door and the children inside let it in. The chain on the door / clinks as it unlocks.
Later, when the mother’s face is falling / in melted sheets of waxen tissue around the tiger, / the children will run. / Did they scream? you wonder. / If they did, it would be the sound of Korea's greatest poetry. / The children upturn their heads to the stars and pray / for escape. They receive / one rope woven of nameless / faceless / fingernails / and tiger fur / and the other / is a rotting noose. The strong one will save them and the rotten one will kill them. / Or maybe it is the other way around. rhaeun
Haeun (Regina) Kim is a student writer from Seoul, South Korea. An alumna of the Adroit Journal Summer Mentorship, the Sewanee Young Writers' Conference, and the SUNHOUSE Summer Writing Mentorship, she has been recognized by Bennington College, the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, River of Words, and more. Her writing has been published in Rust & Moth, the WEIGHT journal, and Stone Soup, among others. Besides editing for Polyphony Lit, she enjoys art and amateur ballet.