Grace Lee: Poetry Collection

Sleeping Among the Flowers

I laid down in the field and the flowers

held me between their petals. Their bodies open,

soft with a fragrant scent. The clover pressed

its cheek against my palm, the dandelion

tickled me with its dust, and the lily blanketed me.

I slept unlike ever before, a cloud in the

summer sky, nothing but the slow buzz of

bees singing me to sleep. They murmured old hymns

like nature’s lullaby. Throughout the night,

I heard nature’s small realms muttering around me,

the grass shifting and shivering beside my ear.

The roots twisted beneath my spine, and a moth

landed in my hair as though it was crowning me.

A ladybug tapped my ankle, gentle as a knock,

then kept its steady, slow path without apology.

A cricket chirped between the petals of a

distant leaf as I watched the stars illuminate

between the stalks. By morning, I had become

but one more stem among the rest.

Spellbound 

Beyond the fog-stained glass, a winding

trail of cobblestone loops unfurled—

unfurled into shadows, unfurled into hollows,

with pointy twigs like brittle fingers

reaching out from the underbrush,

reaching for my ankles, reaching out across the path,

urging me to follow.

A few steps in, a choice revealed itself

when the path diverged into two—

into two directions, into two unknowns.

As though I were spellbound,

I drifted deeper

into the route

where forest green grass shimmered like emeralds

under the warm embrace of the summer sunlight,

sunlight that brushed flora, sunlight that caught in the leaves.

Soft breeze tickled grass blades

as they swayed hazily.

A pool of water gleamed beside the path,

reflecting sunrays as though

it were nature’s mirror. It mirrored the skies,

it mirrored the birds in flight, it mirrored, briefly, my own face.

The light nearly blinded me.

Yet beneath its glassy surface,

a city of insects climbed between bits of

dirt and winding roots. Their footsteps

rumbled the underground—a whispering pulse,

a booming ancient drum, a thunder of footsteps,

beneath the moss green skin of the earth, hidden

beneath the dancing sunlit ferns.

a divine dinner tune

when we gathered around the kitchen table,

holding hands as my mother said grace,

the clatter of plates rang like beating drums

while the dumplings cracked like fireworks

on the frying pan. our voices were keys of a

piano. every conversation played in my

ears as a melodic tune. blinded by rising

steam and golden, glimmering sunlight

peeking through the windows, all i sensed

was laughter. chuckles were strings on a

violin as we sang the same song. i realized

i no longer feared forever, rather, the end.

i yearned for time to slow as the voices of

my siblings rang like church bells through

my ears. i muttered a “thank you” to

whoever watched over us, as this joy could

be the work of no less than divine powers.

Traversing the Swamp

As I traverse,

     the trees lean in,

          blanketed in rusty bark

               and tanned by the sun.

Their limbs twist,

     poking me with each move,

          like frail fingers

               stopping my tracks.

I step through the

     moss-thick floor,

          damp and humid.

     Ferns slowly unfurl around me,

          brushing the soil with its

     sticky touch.

          Roots writhe beneath me

          like twisting snakes,

     as the bark peels back,

     revealing redness

     like sunburnt skin,

The forest seems to watch

     my every cautious move

          as I traverse through.

About the Author:

Grace Lee, a high school student in Seoul, South Korea, is passionate about words. Whether crafting stories or poems, she blends her unique perspective with the vibrant culture of Seoul. She has explored her passion for creative writing at the Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshop and Juniper Young Writers Online. Excited to contribute to the literary landscape, Grace's writing reflects the universal themes of adolescence in a big city.