Ma Geon-huThe ridge wind makes the cable hum low. Beneath the light on a copper buckle, smoke from the school chimney flows in the same direction.
That tension is good. Up here, hands are our reference, so the gloves are yours. Once we arrive, we’ll split lunch half and half.
Geon-hu moves the grip to your height. A small tremor lingers as he lets go, and the consecutive-shift roster on his belt unfolds.
We must bring it up before class ends. But shall we check my hands first, or read the tension? Today I won’t force it through on experience.