The fruit of my Woman~ Han Kang

This has to be one of the loveliest pieces of literature I’ve savored in a long time. What I like about this is the way her dreamlike prose begins with detailing the ordinary, circling the everyday, making us familiar. And then, she moves into the shadows. She holds up his loneliness, she holds up hers. And we understand exactly what, why, how. When I read this piece, I was reminded again what it means to write and show, not write and tell.

Take a look. Here.

The return of the butterflies

You burn with the years

growing lovelier

and lonelier

Because, you know there is such a thing

as paradox.

Life has made one out of you.

 

Your heart, the red jukebox of impossibilities

goes slow now

and you realise, with an ache

that you miss the blur of

perfect chaos- your belly

has long been empty

of butterflies. You wonder, if they will

ever return.

 

In the red aftermath of autumn

you were left drenched and reeling

crumpling dreamlessly into the earth

until you emerged like the flower

you never knew was possible,

like the flower who knew

it needed to bloom

for the return

of the butterflies.