To the people of Japan,
especially
the people who work tirelessly
to keep us safe, warm, and fed
MARCH 9, 2011
not much time
between good morning and good-bye
out the door
early
Father goes one way
to catch a train east to Shinjuku
then later
I go another way
to walk to school
when all’s clear
Mother goes to the table
to work at her laptop
out into March wind
I rush to meet Yuka
my best friend since kindergarten
Maya! she shouts to me
we run, grab hands
lean in, squint, and
smile into each other’s faces
we are sweaterless
kaze no ko
“wind kids”
who don’t wear coats
even in winter
with no time to spare
to be on time
we hurry on
at recess
a time
when we choose
how we use
our time,
Yuka and I run out
to meet
under the cherry tree near the gym
long time no see, I say
she giggles
Ready?
Yuka stands behind me
waiting
waiting
waiting
for
the wind to knock me back
into her outstretched arms
it takes big gusts and trust
to fall back
it’s not easy
for me to let go
there’s hesitation
then panic
the moment my toes are off the ground
then relief—
Yuka’s always there
to catch me
today’s wind is not a true March wind
but
we wait
let go and
fall
as many times as we can
until the playground clock says
our time is up
back inside
my class lines up
carrying our chairs
to the music room
we’re out of step
starting and stopping
bumping and scooting
straggling
before lunch each day
these last days of fifth grade
we practice
for the spring choir performance
at the city concert hall
on Monday
March 14
five days from now
parents (mostly mothers) and grandparents
will come
at their appointed time
make their way through the lobby then
rush to seats
as each grade files onstage
takes their places
sings and exits
Teacher chose me
to be front row center
to clank blocks
to keep the beat
with her piano chords
I love this task
but
it’s not easy
each day
we get lost
in bird notes
a thrush
high in mulberry branches
outside the music room
begins his song when we begin ours
he is trying to cheer us up—
our song sounds so sad
humans are fragile, we sing
Teacher assures us
the song will make hearts ring
it does end on a higher note
but it is no one’s favorite
except
maybe grandparents’
we struggle on
with my clank clank
trying to get them in tune
life is mysterious, we sing
walls
windows
tree limbs shudder
the thrush disappears in flutters
Teacher stands up
11:45
earthquake
we don’t miss a beat
grabbing our padded emergency hoods
from the backs of our chairs
putting them
on our heads
in case something falls
we have earthquakes all the time
but this time
Earth rocks us
in circles
someone says, this is eerie
Earth stills
we settle back into our classroom
where
there are desks to slide under
if it happens again
it doesn’t
early afternoon
in the gym
all fifth-grade classes
come together
to practice
Moriyama’s big hit, “Sakura”
a spring song for cherry blossom season
we will perform at the sixth graders’ graduation ceremony
after they present us with rice seeds from their school project
they will stand from their chairs
to face us
as we sing
I know we will see them smile
we are in harmony
from the first note
the thrush does not take a seat
in the cherry tree outside the gym
shoulder to shoulder
within the group
I lift my eyes to the windows
singing the chorus
Sakura! Sakura!
as these cherry blossoms bloom…
I see
sparrows flit and twitter
twig to twig
through cherry blossom buds
not ready to bloom
after school
I wait for Yuka
not in a rush
on Wednesdays
we walk and chat
pass shops and stop
to count
pigeons sitting
in a bare tree,
bulbuls shredding
magnolias, and
city workers pruning
branches
the trees are full today, I say
Yuka giggles
I giggle back
we count
twelve pigeons
three bulbuls
five city workers
then cut along the path
of Great-grandfather’s field
past the last cabbage
daikon and
broccoli
he’s pushing a motor tiller
guiding it
making a new row of crops
a starling follows him
picking out insects
I call to him
Yuka echoes me
then says,
he cannot hear us
he doesn’t hear well anyway
and
he never says much either
even back when
I followed behind him
helping him
picking out weeds
and
planting bowls of seeds
buckets of taro tubers, and
trays of edamame seedlings
before I got too busy
with school
cram school and
English practice
Great-grandfather has farmed full-time since age seventeen
for sixty-three years
each year I think will be his last
his customers pass his vegetable
stand
with bicycle baskets packed
with vegetables, toilet paper, and detergent
“one-stop shopping” at the new store
kills his business
but still
he tills, sows, and gathers
each season
there is always something
to do
he plants less, but
we always have plenty to eat
Grandmother pickles the excess
the starling pecks the softened soil
a wagtail zigs and zags and wags
Great-grandfather’s fields feed them, too
Yuka asks, same birds from yesterday?
I don’t know
same from last year?
I don’t know how long they live
I only know their names and
their songs
mainly
I just love them
how they appear out of nowhere
like an unexpected gift
how they come and go
fly in and out
as they please
over a garden wall
we hear but do not see
a bush warbler
at the park
two doves
blink at us from their fence seat
and greet us with coo
we stop to inspect the cherry tree
one branch hangs down and reaches out to us
the blossom-viewing prediction for Tokyo is right, we agree,
no way
this tree will bloom before a new school year begins April 6
no way
we will picnic under full blossoms the last days of our break, but
no matter
tight buds
Yuka and I
enjoy now together
we take our time
before
we have to start our evening schedules
today
for her, abacus lessons
for me, English practice
see you!
we say to the doves
and to each other
and turn
Yuka
left
I
right
* * *
Grandmother is bringing in laundry
at the house Great-grandfather built
I stop at our gates sitting side by side
the daffodils Mother planted
the fall Grandfather died
wait to open
a breeze through their house
reaches me
paper, straw, wood
cold and dark
the house smells sunny
like vegetables
freshly cut or drying
Grandmother always takes a break
from the vegetable stand
to bring in their laundry
to greet me when I return and
to help me while Mother works
at our house
doors slam
the wind, says Grandmother and smiles
I yell, I’m home, toward our open living-dining room window
Mother yells back,
Maya, you’re late!
she sets aside time
on Wednesdays, my break from cram school,
to give me English lessons in listening
reading
writing
and computer skills in both languages
she was born in America
grew up an orphan in foster homes
came here
married Father, the language, and the culture
and opened a translating service
I have two languages
two cultures
two passports
I have roots and wings
(Mother tells me often)
but
I have only been to America once
still
I know it pretty well
its food
its music
its history
Mother chooses my favorite subjects to research, too
today
she has prepared a research and
note-taking exercise from a video
about
the smallest, most delicate bird in the world
it can fly through bad weather
balance midair
and
hover
paddling its wings in infinity symbols
it can sip from breeze-blown flowers
darting to adjust to their sudden movements
it is strong and cute and beautiful
at the same time
its feathers sparkle and
change with the angle of sunlight
like a rainbow
its name is “Humming Bird”
(Mother corrects my spelling)
sadly
this bird, this jewel, stays only in the Americas
MARCH 10, 2011
near the end of the school year
it’s not easy to stay
on the same page
in class
and
on the same note
in choir practice
and
on the chair
in cram school
after trying to stay awake in cram school
I rush to do homework
I sip tea
from my favorite mug
the mug Yuka gave me in second grade
when
we had time for fun
before
we started cramming for
junior high entrance exams
MARCH 11, 2011
in the morning rush
07:44 Earth shudders
to make us pause
note the time and
watch the pendant light stir the air
above the dining table
my cell phone dings from its drawer
Yuka texts
I text
I put my phone back in its place
and run to meet her
it’s a perfect spring day
who wants to be inside?
at morning practice
the thrush is not outside the music room
we are all on the same note
but our hearts are still not in the song
at recess
no wind to push us down
Yuka and I join others
for a game of circle catch
at afternoon practice
in the gym
we are caught up in song
we are ninety fifth graders in tune
our voices flow
blend
soar
Sakura! Sa———ku—
a bell rings
lights flicker
the gym clock says
Earth
d
r
o
p
s
below me
midair
toes off the floor
hovering
arms paddling
free-falling
feels like an eternity
before
I drop
Out!
the playground clock tells us
five minutes have passed
we fifth graders are sitting on the playground
caught without our emergency hoods
wearing our indoor shoes
no one mentions it
14:54
we are still
14:55
14:57
14:58
whirling
15:01
everyone is calm
15:02
cooperative and
15:03
mostly
15:05
quiet
15:06
even when Earth
15:07
15:08
us
15:08
15:11
we are following the rules
15:12
15:13
other students file out of the main building
wearing their emergency hoods
scooting into their outdoor shoes
15:15
everyone drops to the ground
at the school gate
Yuka’s mother, other mothers
are suddenly there
waiting for the signal to enter
like they’re supposed to
fifth-grade teachers stand
do head counts then
call roll
some mothers squat close to the ground
to avoid
15:18
falling down
others
15:19
squeal and fall
most try to stand ready
all of them look
15:20
worried
15:21
15:23
stunned
15:25
scared
school staff bring our outdoor shoes
from the entrance
telling us we will not go back inside
we put them on
using a foghorn
Principal tells us the epicenter was up north
praises us for cooperating obediently
moving quickly
sitting quietly
says we can check out with teachers
if a family member is here
tells us to be careful
watchful
helpful
wishes us well
Yuka’s mother leads her away
we wave
Grandmother is in line
my first word to her