Kwanganli Beach VI
By: Vernon Moders

Sailboards ply the swamps
where they once ran barefoot
through rice paddies
to the safety zone.
Rode on the top of the last trains from the North
past corpses littering the burning grass.

Outside the scuba shop, café tables
By the Gout de France
the harbor bridge being built
the view from the Bali Hi Hotel;
There is a song of the sea
which tells the tale
echoes from these mountains
from gourd and skin drum
flies on the sea wind from kayagum strings
and mimics the seagull’s cry for food
beyond the Yonghodong graves
where young men lie.

Kwanganli Beach VI
By: Vernon Moders

Long rods bend
with baited fluorescent sinkers
between the old wooden dinghys
off the rocks to the open sea
The daughter, dressed in black
combination co-ordinated
tosses her gentle line.
Families sit on mats
while lovers caress and
schoolgirls walk, arms locked.
Factory men squat in circles
slice raw fish on cardboard boxes
slosh down the Jinro Soju
Along the boardwalk
rats scamper by the fishnets
the children laugh and play
As Sunday sunset comes
The ships roll out to sea.