Sijos for My Grandmother

My grandmother prays every morning, hunched on crumbled knees.
Rocking in silence Ha-na-nim-Ye-su-nim her lips whisper,
God and Jesus fade into the gurble of the coffee maker.

My grandmother makes kimchi in shiny silver basins,
Mixing salt, garlic, and pounds of chili pepper powder.
She seals and numbers finished boxes, ready for a third world war. 

It is the New Year and my grandmother has made us teokguk.
Slices of sticky rice cakes float slippery in steaming broth.
“So good luck sticks?” asks mom. “No,” says my grandmother, “it’s not for that.” 

My legal grandmother watches Dr. Oz with a pad and pen.
She transcribes the names of perfect foods that will save us in English.
“That should do it,” she says, after ordering ten pounds of walnuts.

If ever I doubt my grandmother, I recall making her lunch,
Mustard and rice, smashed by a toddler’s unwashed hands, on whole-wheat bread.
She smiled and ate the whole thing without even a glass of milk.

Note: The sijo is a 14th century Korean verse form. Sijos were originally written as songs and consist of three lines of 14-16 syllables each. The first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “twist,” and the third offers a conclusion. These sijos are in loving memory of my grandmother.

Nicole Im

Nicole Im grew up in Modesto, California—a small town in the heart of the Central Valley. Her writing has been published in Freeman’s, Literary Hub, Hinterland Magazine, and Pigeon Pages. She holds an MFA in creative writing from The New School and is working on a memoir.