Before I knew what
한 was
All I knew
Was this:
My mother’s aunt
Never failing
To set out the same extra
Pair of chopsticks
Before eating, alone.

Those chopsticks
Were never
Used.

Later, much later
I learned what
한 was
When I learned
That those chopsticks
Had once belonged to
My mother’s aunt’s husband
Who had left the same way
The sun leaves the evening sky
To fight in the Korean War
And never returned.

Just like everyone
Else in his
Troop.

But it’s been more than
Sixty years,
I told my mother.
She told me
Grief is

A set of chains
So fine
It is sometimes confused
With hope.

Their last name was 한.
한: described as an emotion of grief or resentment
There is no word for it in English.

She must have loved him
Very much,
I told my mother.
She told me
Grief is the offspring of love.
Neither can be distilled into translation
Just like 한.
They stand alone
Like a pair of chopsticks
Always washed, never used
Or alone, like a wife
Eating dinner alone
Then peering out of a glowing
Window into the night,
Searching for
What was
Taken
From
Her.