Read: Kirstin Durfey

세상을 맛보고 싶은 갈증을 가지고 있어 모험심에 대한 열렬한 사랑으로 가득찬 커스틴 더피는 거의 3년을 활기찬 유치원생들을 가르치면서 대한민국 대구에서 살아왔습니다.한국에서 살기 전 그녀는 이탈리아에서 가르쳤고 그곳에서 이탈리아 문화를 사랑하게 되었으며 다른 문화와 사람들 사이에서 느끼는 아름다움을 감사히 여기게 되었습니다. 그녀는 2005년 이후로 시를 써왔고 그녀 자신과 다른 사람들 그리고 그녀 주위의 세계를 자유롭게 탐험하고 느끼고 표현할수있도록 언어가 제공하는 편안한 공간을 그녀는 좋아합니다.

An avid lover of adventure with a thirst to taste and see the world, Kirstin Durfey has been living in Daegu, South Korea teaching energetic kindergartners for almost three years. Before living in Korea, she taught in Italy, where she came to adore Italian culture and also grew to appreciate the beauty in difference that exists amongst cultures and people. She has been writing poetry since 2005 and relishes the space / words give / to feel, express, and be free to explore herself, others, and the world around her.

Living Painting

Head collapsed in the folds of his hands
he sits down at the end of the subway art street.
Slouched on a speckled stone bench
his lips crusted with dust & days of sour kimchi
he struggles to sleep like an ostrich
with its head buried in sand.

Passersby ponder the lines & colors of portraits hanging
on the underground art street walls.
They muse over the meaning of painted questioning eyes

          but him?

His greased pepper hair, faded
shower slippers hanging from his feet in midair,
grey hiking pants torn once more
from scraping over metal garbage bins--

one glance at him & our eyes say they know his story:

empty green Soju bottles
that must have led him down below ground,
incompetent fingers that couldn’t type on a computer & didn’t
care to try to find labor that could put rice inside his belly.

One glance & our eyes turn away--

we do not pause to see
the cups of life he has drunk,
the thoughts that breathe inside his mind,
his neck that hangs
like one already dead.

Art smudges that lack breath
we stop to stare & see

          but him

the painting who breathes, we choose to pass by.

They walk about in darkness;
all the foundations of the earth
are shaken…

Shaken. Are we?


Fading Dust

Warm from spring
rain, the earth slides
around my toes.
It covers them
one by one.

I heard my father’s heart beating
once. It peered into my ear
like a wilted blade of grass.

I stood watching as soft wrinkle lines
etched themselves into his eyes
& bubbles of swelling
fell into his ankles.

Piece by piece
he crumbled
into dust.

Where O death is your sting?

I heard him say
as his lips dissolved
into granules
the size of pin pricks.

Moonlight fills the night.
Wind blows my hair
into my eyes
but all I see
is the moonlit cross
lying atop my father’s dust.

Where O death is your victory?


Graceful Resilience

I wonder
what the inevitable
tastes like.

        A “For Sale” sign on a foreclosed house

My father’s toes, shaking from Parkinson’s disease

        The sharp bite of a jalapeño on my taste buds

The chilled hands of my grandfather lying in a cherry casket

        Bare arms of Maple trees stilled in winter ice

Strands of grey rising from my mother’s scalp

        Glare from the neighbor girl who used to be my friend

Cancer cells that ate my friend’s father when she was thirteen

        Patches of rust on my metal childhood watering can

Yesterday I saw a sunrise
the color of peaches
dipped in silver

breathe again.