Three Sijo

I steal pickles when clearing dishes; Omma doesn’t see

If only I could tell her that I’ve found a man who’d stay

Then my worries wouldn’t feed this baby growing in me.

I drop them off at hotels, flowering like May blossoms

But when I see them again, a baby strapped to the mother’s chest,

They all look like fall, stripped raw; still the mother softly hums.

My husband tells his friends that my work pays for our son’s studies

But I don’t like to think of my being needed as a job

When I hold Chung-hee, I know he wants to stay; he sees me.