노래하거나 울거나

[윤미숙]

노래하거나 울거나

내 안부를 묻는 사람이 아무도 없는 날

버스 정류장 새들이 말을 건다

나는 왜 

새들은 노래하거나 슬피 울거나 

두 가지만 할 거라고 생각했을까

고목의 껍질을 헤집어 찾아낸 벌레들을 

새끼들 입 안에 넣어줄 때는

노래 아닌 어떤 말을 할 것 같은데

아기새들 둥지에서 떠나보낸 후엔

이 숲에서 저 숲으로 떠돌며

슬픔 비슷한 어떤 말을 할 것 같은데

멍에를 다 벗고 난 후

제 먹이를 찾아 날아오를 힘마저  없을 때

그때서야 비로소 

저를 거부한 적 없던 하늘을 향해

단조(短調)의 노래를 부르거나

슬피 울 텐데 

나는 왜 생각하지 못했을까

눈비 내리는 숲속에서

새들도 젖은 날개를 

파닥이고 있다는 것을

Only Singing or Weeping

On days

when no one asks after me,

the birds at the bus stop

speak to me.

Why did I believe

That birds could do

only two things—

sing, or weep?

When they split

the weathered bark of an old tree,

finding insects to feed their young

Beak to beak

surely they speak a language

that is neither song nor sorrow.

And after their fledglings have flown from the nest,

they must drift from one forest to another,

uttering words that carry

the weight of something like grief.

Once every burden has fallen away,

when they no longer possess the strength

to lift themselves

in search of their own food,

Only then,

toward the sky

that has never turned them away,

they would sing

in a minor key—

or quietly weep.

Why had I never thought

that in a forest

of rain and snow,

the birds, too,

were trembling 

their rain-soaked wings?