2024 Sejong Writing Competition
Winning Entries :: Sijo
Adult division
A Friend
Riding in an elevator, a child looks up at a monk,
"Are you God?" asks the young child. How sweet the innocence.
The monk smiles and answers the child, "No, but he is a friend of mine."
On the night I was born, my father bought two bottles of champagne.
He drank one and saved one to drink with me when I turned twenty-one.
He didn’t know that champagne wouldn’t keep that long — nor would he.
He sits at the table, newspaper open, his back to me.
My arms like a shawl around his shoulders, I weep into his neck.
Even my dreams know my father's dead, know he’s only visiting.
In which I rename his cat
"Sweet Sorrow." Then when I call
four paws patter like soft teardrops."Come, Sorrow," I coax. "Come home."
And your gray cat trots toward me.He's your ghost: small, solid, still here.
I kiss his nose. Our eyes smile.
A Tree Seed
Winter comes, father planted a tree seed in the garden.
I'm confused. Why in Winter? Seed may die in cold weather.
Father said, if the seed survives, the tree must be very strong.
Weeds
Words like seeds land in my ears taking root there against my will.
Suddenly I find myself spitting them out of my own mouth.
I wonder, what have I planted in fertile minds, carelessly.
I Count the Days Without You
The calendar lied to us,
saying twelve months make a year.
By instead counting weeks or moons
I find thirteen, and not one less.But I would give my missing month
for one more hour with my love.
Promised Picnics
You smile, grasping the cord that cradles our picnic basket.
Bending low, you spread our quilt and swear an oath we'll return here.
By your grave, I keep our promise; silence cannot conquer love.
Pre-college division
Papa
Papa smiles ear-to-ear, his age showing but not known.
His eyes twinkle—he is wearing his favorite button-down.
I step back from the paper; if only my drawing was real.
Deathbed
The clock ticks and he glances around the room, searching for someone.
In despair, he starts to weep and cries for mama and papa.
Silently, they sit around him. “Dad, we’re here,” his children say.
Sepia Photography
The photo, soft around the edges from wear,
is wrinkled, old.The groom holds, in his photo-brown coat,
his bride in a dark white.She’s alone now, looking back. Through his eyes,
she remembers his love.
Eyes on Me
On the stage I dance and sing
The audience gazing upwardsI’ve always loved the eyes on me
A token of deep attentionExcept here, sitting on the bus
The old man’s stare worried me
Black History Month
February is Black History Month and shortest month of all.
We need to know all the people who died for us.
Oh, we have one more day to think about them this leap year.
To my Grandmother
Your memories float far away with the gentle wind
tomorrow you’ll say again: “you’ve grown since I saw you last”
but I’ll just smile and tell you how much I love you
Bad Grammar
I hate people with bad grammar, like speak properly, please.
It's as simple as knowing the basic rules of your language.
So I ain't wanna hear nobody speak uncorrectly to me.
The Challenge
The shuttle soaring overhead, taking us to the stars.
Millions are watching it fly, all are holding their breath.
A single mishapen O-ring, and the sky is filled with death
Ready?
Don’t want to think–or work on it–school is very tiring.
Endless nights filled with homework, tears, and hoping for something better.
I’m ready to leave, but where, do I even want to think about it?