— By Lee Jae-moo
The shoes, the subject, wear me, the object
and go to work, to the theater, to the bar, to meet a lover
to the bank, to school, to family gatherings, to the district office
boarding and getting off the subway, boarding and getting off the bus
a road that starts at the front door and returns to the front door
flesh dragged about all day, wearing thin day after day
groaning, a day swollen round like a paper bag
taken off with effort
crumpled any which way, falling asleep without bedding
I thought I was the one wearing the shoes, but it was the shoes wearing me. I thought I had landed a job and so went to work, that there was a film I wanted to see and so went to the theater, that I was thirsty for a drink and so went to the bar. All this time the shoes have been wearing me and running their own errands. Now I think I understand why every day feels like the same day. The rubber shoe that slipped off me in childhood and drifted away down the stream must have reached the sea before I did. Soles of the feet still pale white, never meeting the skin of the earth though they walk all day long. How many pairs of shoes have taken me off and left, leaving behind this barefoot life? Today again, in front of the door, I fit myself, the object, snugly into the waiting, open-mouthed subject. — Poet Ban Chil-hwan