Gangnam Beauty
By Mia You
Those lovely eyebrows were lifted high,
and those lips like a pomegranate’s insides
were pressed against Death!
—“Nongae” by Byeon Yeong-ro, translated by Mia You
Every origin story
comes with embellishments,
and since my mother is now
well over 40 I can tell you that
when I lay in wait in her uterus,
pink velour lining and clots
of melancholic sex around me,
I could see already what the world
would give me, and I knew those gifts
wouldn’t make my life easy.
When she started to push
I twisted the fabric
of her cunt around my fingers
and dragged all of it out with me
onto the pink polyester of
her lap, the bedsheets,
the midwife’s gloves,
O, I only wanted my father to love me.
That’s what a baby cries
so we know it’s healthy.
That’s what I sighed last night
so you could feel pity.
O, you aim at my belly,
but I aim to please.
As my mother sat in heaps
around me, I gathered her
needle and knife and unwound
the strings from the lyre I’ll soon
strip for cartilage. I promise you
I’ll fix this, I sang to my father,
through our secret,
four-digit code.
The television begins to play
Cinderella, the calla lilies display
romance as filial piety, the market
smells of crab and patent leather.
The women across, above, and
beneath me methodically
ladle carbon and melodrama
into steel bowls too warm
for bare hands. But here,
my pink gloves, you might call them
an inheritance, I’ll sell them to you
if you tell a good story.
I’ll sell them to you if you tell me
there’s no way out of this.
I’ll sell them to you
if you tell me you love me.
The bone of my chin
will shelter you in the evening,
my eyelids will embrace you
whenever you need solace,
the bridge of my nose
will lead you home.
My body is branded with
luxury and chrysanthemums,
and I have no commitment
to authenticity. Take this
cellular cream and rub it
deep into the sky, you’ll see
the moon will shine for us
just as brightly.
O, you’re all I’ve been looking for
and all I’ve ever had,
you’ve taken everything from me
because what’s sweeter than promise.
Our interest lies far
beyond that horizon, and
you’ll pay later, I whisper so gently.
Don’t worry yourself about the river,
its name means “sorrow,” or “other,”
but that’s just the packaging
and paperwork to my sincerity.
Here, lean in,
wrap your legs around me,
I’ll lick your intestines like
a lollipop laced with plutonium.
I told you, I aim to please.
That contraction you’re feeling,
it’s the gift my mother gave me,
it’s the debt to you I’ve let grow
and grow. O, I’m in you now,
don’t you see, and while you push
I’m twisting my fingers through you.
These lines are my rings,
they can’t be undone,
you didn’t know how much
I wanted you to love me.
Every happy ending
comes with disfigurements,
but for ours I’ll be the mirror
to your beauty. Look down,
you see them all, don’t you,
all the gifts the world
has promised you. It was I
who fixed this for you, it was I
who led us here, right to the edge
of the cliff—
Now we jump
into that white abyss—
Source: Poetry (February 2020)