Bo Schwabacher

An Adopted Korean Girl’s Babies in a South Korean Babies’ Home

I will tie
up my hair

and stay sober
with the cries

of the babies
in Naju.  The Pear Orchard for Tourists

is a temple
where I won’t feel bad

for what
I remember:

a red bean rice cake

in the pocket of
a leather jacket,

I walked away
into the Midwestern wind,

which we all do.

I drink and smoke and eat.
It’s the closest thing

to KORAIL (KTX).
“Gimjang” is the tradition

of preparing

winter
kimchi.

Enough.

I don’t belong

here
or here or here,

but I will try to love you
with clenched sleeping fists.

Bo Schwabacher’s poetry has appeared in CutBank, diode, Muzzle, Redivider, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Word Riot, and elsewhere. She teaches at Northern Arizona University.