for Choi Sung Hee i remember jeju-do: that living eye, a candy-coloured sky that was remote- controlled by halla-san, or lord muck, a lady mountain gathering her skirts around her as a cloud sucks up rain. i remember 제주 4·3 사건, although we were not there, bullets like a maze, weeping in secluded lanes, wounds as big as tangerines & the green moulds all over the dead (the reds, the red i remember gangjeong peace zone, cute as a postcard, & its anti-nuke murals (white wall with that painted-on tree whose outline mirrored that of a real tree (its leaves greener than my hopes i remember kang dong kyun, the mayor, was arrested for protesting too much - and for eating too little in his cell, his hunger strike embarrassing some, while electrifying the people's media i remember "Touch not one flower, not one stone!", a great mantra for daily living, just like mayor kang's letters, each beginning with the line: dear mr. noam chomsky! dear mr. chomsky! i remember seogwipo, quiet six pm city on the island's south side, the flowers in boxes lining the steep path down to the marina, & the harbour, & the wooden restaurant where the mosquitoes ate us i remember u-do, tiny postage stamp of an island, where the haenyo plied their trade, sleek as seals in black diving suits, surfacing with buckets full of sea anemones & sea's salt-water tears but i forgot you, funny dol hareubang, like manwha characters playing dead, frozen into stone on the mountainside. there'll be no memorial service for you who can't remember, let alone regret.