more than ever
everywhere I go.
From the clump of trees,
Masa pounces
my heart flops
I squeal like a mouse under a cat’s paw.
He laughs
dances like a demon
and tosses something at me . . .
a cicada shell.
Dazed,
then tuned in,
I watch him and think,
Someone needs to throw salt on him.
I look beyond him, ignore
his dancing
his rattling hands in front of my face.
He starts calling me God of Hell.
I ignore him, but
his fingertips graze my cheek.
I slap slap slap at his arms,
and scream,
“For sure I am God of Hell! Watch out!”
He steps backward.
I step forward,
crushing the cicada shell under my shoe, and shout,
“I will spirit you away!”
I charge him
grab his arm
pull.
My aggression is stunning.
He pulls free,
scrambles, runs.
Now who’s the bully?
INSTANT KARMA
I stomp to the shops.
I march back
realizing at the gate
I forgot to buy tea.
Just let Obaachan say something about that!
I will not walk
all the way back to the shop
to buy tea.
Obaachan is still not talking to me
even after unpacking the groceries.
I miss the hot cup of tea at dinner.
ON THE BUS WITH OBAACHAN
Standing, tired after hospital visits,
I know what she is thinking:
Younger generations don’t give up
their seats for their elders
these days.
Obaachan is fuming
but she isn’t showing anything
but manners.
We are standing over
a man cutting his nose hair.
The bus jostles.
I can barely stand
Obaachan not saying anything
not even looking at him
even from the corner of her eye.
Manners.
Obaachan seems smaller outside the house.
These days, I am not so sure
I am the same person
anywhere I go.
THE WORST NIGHTMARE
I am the giant chasing Masa.
GROUNDING
Our class
snakes along the street
heads toward the river
to a small field.
Masa is sticking to the farmer
studying his every move
as he instructs us how to
pull daikon.
Two groups form.
Masa’s group pulls.
Most struggle to free
the long, thick radishes
from the soil.
The farmer tells Masa
“Good job!”
Masa is happy.
My group sits
waits
snaps off the tops.
We all have green fingertips.
Today is our civic lesson
for appreciation.
The farmer thanks us
tells us to fill the plastic bags
we brought from home
with the greens.
Back at school we divvy up
the leaves to make sure
everyone gets a fair share.
Obaachan seems pleased to receive it
even though it is a muddy mess.
Before her first bite, she says,
“Itadakimasu.”
She says it at every meal but
today it is the first time in a week
she says something in my direction.
Papa has always translated itadakimasu as
“Thank you, farmers!”
THANKSGIVING
Papa has a day off
Labor Thanksgiving, giving thanks to workers!
Mom and Papa and I celebrate
America’s Thanksgiving on this day.
This year, because of the time difference,
they’re on the same day.
Papa will spend the day with us.
This year will be spent in hospitals.
MOM’S THANKSGIVING
Mom asks about Jiichan and Obaachan
and shows us a plate of Thanksgiving
dropped off by American church ladies.
She is thankful to have a taste of America.
She gives me and Papa a nibble
puts the plate in her room refrigerator
and says she will save a bite of pumpkin pie
to eat with Grandpa Bob and Nana
on the phone on Thanksgiving Day
California time.
Mom tells us she’s tired
of the hospital milk-producing diet
even though it is tasty.
“They make the best miso soup here,” she says.
Complaining
about the long hospital stay
—“doctors here are so conservative” —
she quickly adds
she is “thankful to stay with Miki.”
NOVEMBER 23, 2001
BABY’S FIRST THANKSGIVING
We circle Miki
in her glass box
and list our thanks.
I am thankful Masa ignores me,
but I wish I hadn’t hit him.
I don’t say any of that out loud;
I’m keeping it to myself.
I am thankful Miki is a girl.
I am thankful Miki is getting stronger.
I am thankful Miki is healthy.
Mom and Papa say the same
(except the girl part).
We all agree
every day with Miki is Thanksgiving.
Papa and I have a hard time
leaving Miki
leaving Mom
but we have to go.
JIICHAN’S THANKSGIVING
Late afternoon,
lunch of
stewed vegetables
fish
miso soup
a bowl of rice
and tofu
is pushed aside on his tray table.
Papa sighs and says, “Looks good.”
“Not like Mother’s,” Jiichan says.
Papa agrees and doesn’t say
anything about eating at the ramen shop
three times a week since we’ve been gone.
My mouth waters
my stomach begs
Obaachan and I aren’t eating many hot meals.
I hand Jiichan his rice bowl
humming a song I know he likes,
“I Look Up as I Walk.”
Papa asks, “Do you know
Americans call it ‘Sukiyaki’?”
“A beef dish song!”
Jiichan smiles.
I tell him, “Please get strong.”
He eats for me.
WALKING TO OBAACHAN’S
Papa flags the yaki imo truck.
Its recording blasts encouragement to buy
but the toasty aroma is encouragement enough.
The seller bags three of his biggest roasted potatoes.
Papa hands them to me.
They warm my heart all the way back.
A HOT MEAL
Obaachan presents us
a home-cooked meal.
She dragged out the kotatsu
to replace the dinner table.
Our legs are cozy
draped by the blanket at the table edge and
toasted by the heater underneath the tabletop.
I am thankful for this tasty hot meal
with Papa.
O
ver steaming teacups, we view
a ray of sunset in the maple tree,
deepening to valentine red.
He doesn’t want to leave,
but he has to go back.
Off on Friday for Labor Thanksgiving,
he has to work all weekend.
I am alone with Obaachan again.
Now there is a heater
to warm up to, but
that doesn’t mean she’s going to turn it on.
GIVING THANKS ON THE PHONE
Grandpa Bob and Nana on one side
of the Pacific Ocean,
me on the other side
waves of electrical pulses
bounce off a satellite
circling Earth
between us
the connection is clear.
We talk about the things
we are thankful for
warm and cozy things
we remember
driving down to San Francisco,
the coldest summer vacation ever,
flying out to New York City,
the coldest spring break ever, and
being together.
A WARM AND COZY THING
Without my complaining,
Papa sends a cloth cover
to warm up
the toilet seat.
SCHOOL ART EXHIBITION
Papa cannot come
Mom cannot come
Jiichan cannot come
I do not want Obaachan to come.
We carry our projects to the gym.
Masa is proud of his Sun painting even though
he used crayons, not paint.
His exploding Sun is yellow and green.
I heard him tell Yuta, “The inside of the Sun is green.”
Our class table is crowded with projects.
Sachiko’s bandaged tower and my purple heart
sit side by side.
I tell her I like her tower.
She thinks my heart is good.
NOVEMBER 29, 2001
GUITARS GENTLY WEEP
Every night
on the phone
with Papa,
I want to tell him
everything bothersome.
I talk,
but I don’t say
anything worrisome.
Tonight
I hear
in Papa’s voice
something sad.
His favorite Beatle died.
George Harrison passed away in California
on November twenty-ninth.
“He was a man of peace,” Papa says.
“He knew how to treat people.”
This would not be a good time
to tell Papa I hit Masa.
NOVEMBER 30, 2001
DECEMBER 2001
SAD AND HAPPY IN ONE DAY
Today,
America’s seventh of December,
our eighth,
is a very sad anniversary—
Pearl Harbor.
Prayers are said
on all shores.
Today
sixty years later
the American president says
Japan and America
“are working side by side
in the fight against terror.”
Today,
our eighth,
is a happy day—
the royal baby Aiko,
the late Emperor Hirohito’s great-granddaughter,
leaves the Imperial Household Agency Hospital
in the arms of her smiling mother, Crown Princess Masako,
with Crown Prince Naruhito smiling by her side.
DECEMBER 8, 2001
ABOVE IT ALL
My thoughts are lost in space with
Grandpa Bob’s NASA news:
Over six thousand small flags, and
flags from the towers,
the Pentagon
the Pennsylvania Capitol
are orbiting Earth in the Endeavor space shuttle
along with possessions of victims,
firefighters, and police officers.
A ceremony will be held
on December 11, 2001, New York time
in the International Space Station
to commemorate the loss of life on September 11.
It will be on NASA TV.
I cannot watch
without Internet access here.
I look up as I walk along
to the train station with Obaachan.
BACK TO EARTH
I stop in my tracks—
Masa!
and his mother
are standing outside a cake shop
the one with the best Christmas cake
the one with the dancing Santa
the one with the sign saying,
Please do not touch Santa.
Masa is pointing at Santa
leaning in too close
about to touch him
but doesn’t.
Bashi!
His mother smacks him on the head.
Obaachan nudges me
tells me not to linger
or to watch.
She doesn’t know
who this boy is.
And I don’t tell her.
SITTING NEXT TO OBAACHAN
On the train
my brain
rushes—
MASA’S MOTHER hits him.
Masa’s mother HITS him.
Masa’s mother hits HIM.
clatters—
MASA hit me.
Masa HIT me.
Masa hit ME.
screeches—
I hit Masa.
I HIT Masa.
I hit MASA.
My stomach sinks with motion.
My heart is sicker.
My face is an open book.
I feel
a woman
Obaachan’s age
looking at me
looking at
Obaachan
looking
at us
watching
seeing
feeling
sensing
knowing
I am about to leave
into my hand.
ON THE PLATFORM
I look down into the face
of a small origami doll
smiling up at me
her arms open wide
a heart glued to her sash.
She is mostly heart.
Covered in plastic
a slit of paper stuck on the outside
says
May Peace Prevail on Earth
in English.
Obaachan bends over the doll,
looks me in the eyes,
asks,
“What is the meaning?”
The meaning.
I don’t know “prevail.”
I look at Obaachan
in her eyes
for the first time
I see black spokes around her pupils.
Like mine.
I am like Obaachan.
But worse.
She doesn’t hit.
I do.
THE MEANING
I look down
and
see the big heart.
Without translation,
without hesitation,
without intimidation,
I tell Obaachan, “Put peace in your heart.”
She looks like someone has seen her
sweeping with the wrong broom.
She shrinks,
recoils,
strikes out
toward the exit.
This stranger has seen into our hearts.
OBAACHAN’S UNFOLDING LOVE
Between Earth and Sun
Moon is passing
in an annular solar eclipse
we cannot see from Japan.
I am watching
looking for
&nbs
p; and seeing
cosmic changes
in this house.
DECEMBER 14, 2001
WITHOUT FUSSING
Obaachan and I prepare for Mom and Miki
to leave the hospital.
We dust,
vacuum,
and pull out a space heater
for Great-Grandfather’s room.
Obaachan doesn’t notice the messy-looking ceiling.
She doesn’t fuss once all day.
That’s cosmic.
AND A TOASTY MOMENT
Obaachan doesn’t notice
the hole at the big toe
of my sock
before I slide my legs
under the heater table.
Drinking tea alone
together
for the first time
ever
she notices
I fold back the peel of a mikan,
into one star-shaped piece
and use it as a plate
for the juicy orange wedges I pull apart.
She tells me
for the first time in my life,
“You know manners.”
I tuck the sock hole
between my toes
and smile.
RED RICE
Obaachan places one thousand yen in my hand
scoots me out of the house
tells me where to go
to buy sekihan for Mom and Miki’s
“homecoming.”
Mom would prefer Western cake,
Obaachan knows that, but
I know red rice is for celebrations.
I go all the way to Mr. Iida’s shop
to give him our business.
I pass
Mr. Tanaka’s cake shop.
Western cakes. New York cheesecake,
Mom’s favorite
three hundred yen a slice.
I open Iida’s shop door
shouting,
“Excuse me!”
He clamors downstairs
slips into slippers
stands behind the counter
wiping his mouth.
I smell salty soy rice crackers on his face.
I have interrupted his teatime.
“Red rice,” I say.
He says, “Congratulations.”
PRESENTATION
Mom’s bags are packed
waiting for Papa
I am there
with Obaachan when the nurse
presents Mom with a small wooden box.
I ask if I can open it.