Self-Portrait as Return Address
Do you know the sound a snail makes when it thinks no one is listening?
I draw it anyway. Small. Spiral. The way you taught me to hold a secret— cupped like water between two palms.
In Korean, to return is dol-a-ga-da but I can't roll the syllables without tasting your name.
Look— even this creature carries its house on its back. Even this blue wash of paint knows how to bleed beyond its borders.
They say if you're fixated on one thing you miss what's next but I keep drawing the same shell the same curve of spine disappearing.
Do you see how I've made a home of this waiting?
