계엄령

.quest

a quiet inquiry into loud words

— a small note, kept folded —

There are words that arrive heavy and stay heavy. 계엄령. A decree, a curfew, a held breath in the throat of a country.

And yet, the kettle still whistles. The garden does not stop blooming. Someone is kneading bread while history holds its breath.

— kept by the windowsill

the surface tears

History does not pass cleanly through the village. Pastoral scenes corrupt, reform, corrupt again — every gentle thing carries the memory of a curfew.

A pamphlet folded into a recipe card. A garden hose mistaken for a barricade.

the clearing

Afterward — and there is always an afterward — the air settles. The hills remember. The kitchen remembers. We remember more softly than before.