Communion

Communion

Rachel Rim

For Sue 

A quiet memory: 

Shredding basil into bowls of pho, 
Halmoni and Harabaji across from me,
Rough hands doctoring their own soups.

On the table next to the bean sprouts 
Sits a ceramic plate with a dozen phrases, 
The shortlist of topics that can travel between us. 

My good grades and regular meals confirmed
And all the names of aunts and cousins invoked 
Like the poetic muse for Konglish conversation, 

We simmer down to smiles, beaming 
Over broth; I perform a monologue 
By emptying my bowl. 

When the check arrives, I glance up and see
You only a few tables away, a soft smile evidence of
A witness to this linguistic alchemy 

In the form of my dead professor’s wife. 
On your face opens a world of widowed grief 
And in your gaze I’m welcomed in.

You stand up when we approach you, 
Holding their hands when my grandparents bow,
And when I helplessly introduce you as 

“My favorite teacher’s wife” because my plate of words 
Is too small to feed that widowed world (and I’m
Unsure anyway how many citizens it can hold),

You lavish upon me the gentlest smile, passing
Sorrow’s speech like a bottle of red between us—
A blooming banquet, a bilingual benediction. 

---

Rachel Rim
Chaplain & Writer

Rachel has been published in Kodon & Prairie Margins

Photography by Ryunosuke Kikuno