Yubeen Lee
Yubeen (Karen) Lee is a rising senior attending Virginia Episcopal School in Lynchburg, Virginia. She is an aspiring poet from South Korea. Her work has been published in Teen Ink, the Afterpast Review, and more. She has also won a National Silver Medal from the 2023 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards.
FUNERAL PORTRAIT WITH PIÑA COLADA
My funeral will be on a hot day, scorching hot
California sun searing the lid of my wood coffin.
My parents will guide the scared souls,
my mother holding the lid ajar, bracing
for grief’s storm. My mother will wear her cesarean scar
like a medal. Like a gift from her child, a mark left
from seasons in utero. Funny how my mother
never wore makeup, yet I couldn’t be seen without
blush. My face, always pale, dead before my heart
even stopped. But when they find
my body, I will shine—waterproof mascara, strawberry lipstick. A mole
my mother never approved of—you already have too many
birthmarks, aegi. When sadness overwhelms, my father will
step forward to hold her up. My father—absent
for most of my childhood, working so we could
survive. My mother and I, always complaining, scanning
their wedding photos, asking why my pretty mother chose
him, his rough stubble, big belly. I have
not yet decided what to serve, but I will
definitely include piña coladas—pineapples and coconuts
do wonders for a broken heart, though I know death
is not a festivity. When we are young, we receive
too much love from family. We end up praying
for tenderness from strangers—we need our daily doses
of care and affection. It seduces us, to crush
on everyone—yes, everyone—until we realize
it’s unethical. But by then, it’s already too late. The music
has already begun, the music of mourning—Adele, just because
I love her. The drum will shake the soil and the beat will
echo against my coffin. My list of potential
speakers recently vanished like people
I thought loved me. No matter
celebration or mourning, there’s always a party
to dodge. After all, I’m an introvert, as I live
and die—in the newspaper, they’ll miss
the fact I am not straight. When someone dies, people drop
grudges. Ethical principles stop
gossip before it leaves the mouth—though they don’t
protect the living from dying of rumor. Death has
a compulsory lesson for everyone—the dead can’t answer
the remaining questions. We climb
to the mountain top where I rest in peace,
no secrets left to carry.