1942 Myungdong, Korea
— eugene lee

there is no sound—

only the silent vacuum

of something no four letter word can

describe the gun never clicks

but it digs southwest into his temple a

small phantom fissure where his mouth

should have been and she compresses

into that empty chasm eyes flickering

in a crooked ellipse while her knees kiss

the floorboards of the house they built

together the soldier’s footfalls drain

in the rusted rain, bloated

with the weight of another body—

the body that had thrown her name

into the river and drowned

alongside it the body that

she had carved her knuckles into

while gravity pulled at her rubber ankles the

body and the hand that belonged

to it that had held her first born son

to the crux of its chest now just a body

being dragged away from her

hands pinned to chest lips

aimed towards God but

eyes exiled from prayer


Eugene Lee is a rising senior at Skyline High School. Eugene began to write as a form of catharsis as well as a way to explore the things she could not find the words for otherwise. She hopes to continue to read and write poetry so that she can be able to see the world through many different perspectives and realities of her own experience. Eugene has been recognized by Scholastic Art & Writing, Chicago College Columbia, and Albion College. Currently, she is interested in exploring the complexity of adolescence, her Korean-American heritage, as well as the overlapping spaces between culture, emotion, and trauma. When not writing, she can be seen on tumblr or with her dog Toto.