Kai! Hey!
You made it!
We made it!
Oi! Oi! he says,
laughing.
We slap
each other’s backs.
Never thought
I’d be so
happy again.
My dad and mom
are here, too,
and my grandpa!
he says, taking
me by the arm.
But I don’t
move.
Oh,
he says.
Oh.
THEN WE SEE
Keiko Inoue—
the coach’s daughter,
scratched, bruised,
bandaged
but alive.
She blushes,
as if embarrassed
at being seen
without clean clothes
or brushed hair,
and even more
embarrassed
about being
embarrassed
at a time like this.
Last time I saw you,
you were under a desk,
I blurt out.
Despite ourselves,
we both laugh.
I’m glad you’re okay,
she says.
Me too.
I mean, you too, I reply.
Suddenly I forget where I am,
why we’re here.
ONIGIRI!*4
someone shouts.
Five rice balls
for every twenty people
and hot green tea.
Won’t even make a dent
in my grumbling stomach,
but I’m still
grateful.
Shin’s ojiisan*5
waves his onigiri away,
holds it out
to Shin instead.
Shin shakes his head.
You gotta eat, Grandpa, he says.
After all you’ve been through,
what a waste it would be
to die this way.
We all heard of the man who froze
last night in a shelter
rather than take the last blanket.
Shin puts the onigiri into
his grandfather’s mouth
like feeding a baby bird.
Shin’s father looks so old—
not like he did behind the wheel of his taxi,
straight-backed and proud.
His hair turned gray
overnight.
Shin’s ojiisan held on to
the washing machine hose
on their balcony
for eighteen hours
while the water
whirled and churned
around him
and the air turned
to ice.
Their apartment’s gone—
now just chunks
of sludge-covered
concrete.
Their family fleet of taxis,
vanished.
Everything’s gone.
Well, not everything—
they still have
each other.
THE RADIO TELLS OF WHOLE VILLAGES
wiped out
along the Tohoku coast—
Rikuzentakata,
Minamisanriku,
Ishinomaki,
Onagawa,
Kesennuma.
Tens of thousands
could be dead or injured,
thousands more missing,
hundreds of thousands
homeless,
including me.
The prime minister
says we’re not alone.
I feel alone.
Can’t stop checking
my ruined
phone.
Principal Kunihara says
they’ll try
to find my dad
in New York.
Good luck with that.
Haven’t seen him
in six years—
like he’s really
gonna come back
to a disaster zone.
AFTER THE PRINCIPAL LEAVES,
I whisper to Keiko:
I’m getting out of here.
Don’t, she says,
her small body tensing.
It’s not safe.
I don’t care, I say.
What could possibly hurt me
more than this quake
already has?
I tell her the story
I heard
about the guy
a town away
who scuba dived
into the tsunami
And when
his wife was safe
he went back
into the wave
to get his
mother-in-law.
Going out now is nothing
compared to that!
You’re crazy, she says,
but I swear I see her smile.
I’M ABOUT TO MAKE A BREAK FOR IT
when Aki-sensei
comes toward us,
that look on his face.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
I count my breaths,
ticking off
the seconds
like Ryu and I used to do
at the end
of a soccer game,
trading glances
when there was still
a chance to win.
Go away,
I say to myself,
willing him
to turn around.
Please just
go away.
HE PUTS HIS ARM AROUND ME,
says Obaachan’s body
has washed
ashore.
I’m sorry.
I’m afraid
you will have to identify her,
he says formally,
head bowed low.
Identify her?
I repeat.
Yes. He nods,
sighs the saddest sigh.
To confirm.
Do you think
you can do that?
I blink back tears.
Confirm.
How can I confirm?
I guess so,
I reply.
But really,
I have no idea.
No idea
at all.
PULLING MY HOOD UP OVER MY HEAD,
I finally go outside,
now the last place
I want to be.
Aki-sensei and I walk slowly
through the darkened town.
Shock of cold air,
shock of
muddy wreckage
piled high
as Mount Fuji.
Streets clogged
with wooden beams
like broken ghost ships,
shattered shells of houses
floating in oil slicks.
Fire smell.
Ocean smell.
Death smell
that doesn’t go away
even when I tie a cloth
over my nose
and mouth.
Passing the elementary school,
my brain doesn’t want
to do the math—
74 out of 108
10 out of 13
What percent is that?
That’s how many
students and teachers
we lost.
At the edge of town
the fish-processing factory’s
a makeshift morgue.
People laid out
on slabs of wood
on metal tables
inside the open room.
I squint when we find
Obaachan,
as if taking in
only half the picture
will make it hurt
half as much.
OBAACHAN’S SWEATER—
mud-soaked,
brown—
I see faint
pink and purple stripes
on the hand-knit
weave.
I
know
it’s her.
AT LEAST
I’ll be able to
console her spirit,
chant prayers,
light incense,
make offerings,
like the braised pumpkin
Obaachan
loved so much.
At least the priest and I
can dress her body
in a white paper kimono,
which will burn
down to ash
in the flames.
At least
I can say
good-bye.
OBAACHAN AND OJIICHAN
always did
everything
together—
what if
they find
him next?
Back at the shelter
I’m terrified
of getting
more news.
sorting donated supplies—
blankets, food,
water, towels, tea.
Heavy box in his hands,
Shin stops,
cocks his head,
says—
Wait! Stop! Hold on!
I look at him, puzzled.
Then the earth rumbles
and I drop the box I’m holding.
Shin and Keiko
drop their boxes, too—
we’re pitched sideways.
Everything we’ve just
spent hours packing
spills out.
WHOA! I THINK I FELT THAT BEFORE IT HAPPENED!
Shin says, righting himself.
I can tell he’s spooked—
not as much as I am.
Some people can hear a sound wave
before a quake, he says,
packing up the boxes again.
Usually there’s too much noise
to really listen.
We’ve had quakes before,
but he’s never told me this.
I guess I have dog ears, Shin says,
adding that he felt weird
the morning the quake hit,
like he was wearing shoes
on the wrong feet.
I didn’t notice anything.
I wish I had.
I wish I could have
done something,
anything.
Shin says quakes send out vibrations
that move through the ground like waves,
traveling ten times the speed of sound.
Dogs, birds, insects,
even spiders
can sometimes feel them.
Some animals
feel a quake coming,
flee to higher ground.
Wish I’d listened harder, Shin says.
LATER WE TRUDGE UP THE HILL
behind the school,
past the rice paddies
near the shrine,
taking bottled water,
onigiri, mikan,*6
toilet paper,
magazines,
cans of green tea,
bags of senbei*7
to the old folks
who can’t
come down.
BOWING LOW
the people
stand outside their homes,
happy the world
hasn’t forgotten them.
But some feel guilty
that their homes
are still standing—
say they feel terrible
that they survived.
I don’t say anything,
but I know
how they feel.
Even though my pack’s now empty,
my shoulders are weighted down.
SEE THIS? SHIN ASKS,
crouching
at the ancient stone marker
beside the mountain road:
Don’t build beneath this stone.
1,200 years ago
another tsunami came
and washed away
the village.
Must have walked by this sign
a hundred times—
how did we miss it?
Back in ancient Greece
Thucydides watched
a giant wave wash over his town
after a quake, Shin says—
the quake caused the wave.
Like when you drop a stone into
a bowl of water
it sprays over the sides.
Doesn’t take someone
like Thucydides
to figure it out.
He’s mad.
I’ve never seen him so mad.
Like he somehow blames himself.
I blame myself, too,
but that won’t change
what happened.
Nothing will.
IN THE HOSPITAL PARKING LOT—
rows of photos
laid out on blue tarps.
Caked in mud,
streaked with sludge,
warped from water.
I search for pictures
of Mom
so I can show people,
ask, Have you seen her?
Find instead
a single torn image
of Mom and Dad
sitting cross-legged
on the tatami mat in our living room.
He’s wearing a striped green flannel shirt
and jeans—
cigarette in one hand,
guitar in the other.
She’s in a red floral dress,
her long straight hair
held back with a paisley headband.
She’s leaning gently into him.
He’s holding on to me.
Once,
a long
time ago,
we were together.
A happy family.
DAD HAD ROUND GLASSES
like John Lennon,
wanted to play
in a band.
Mom had ruddy
red cheeks, ebony eyes.
Maybe he thought
she was his
Yoko Ono.
Maybe they thought:
All you need is love.
I STILL REMEMBER
Dad strumming his guitar
until his finger joints locked
or he busted a string—
whichever came first.
He was always trying to see
how far he could stretch.
Talking too much, singing to himself
as he walked along the pier,
laughing loudly—
things a Japanese dad
would never do.
He embarrassed me so bad,
sometimes I wished
he’d go away.
And then,
one day,
he did.
DIDN’T EVEN KNOW
Mom had such a photo.
I kneel down to pick it up,
put it in my jacket pocket.
I don’t tell anyone,
not even Shin.
DON’T NEED DOG EARS
to hear the five o’clock chime
ring out from the PA system
across town.
I turn left and walk
a beeline—
like I’ve done
for years.
Where are you going? Shin asks,
turning right instead.
I’ve turned toward home.
FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS
that chime meant
time to go home,
time for dinner.
Why don’t they
turn that thing off? I shout.
Yeah, they should, Shin says, frowning.
Why do you care?
You’ve still got your family!
As soon as I s
ay it,
I regret it.
But like so much else,
it’s already too late.
Sorry!
Shin says,
but I’m off and running.
I hear him coming
up fast behind me,
whirl around.
Don’t follow me! I say,
but my words are swallowed
by the whirl of a helicopter overhead.
News team?
Rescue crews scouring the land
for signs of life?
Go away!
I say, running into
the wind.
RAIN BEATS DOWN,
and wild-eyed dogs and cats
don’t even run for cover.
A dog trails me,
begging for food.
I shoo it away,
like I pushed
Shin away.
Even though
Shin’s my best friend,
he doesn’t understand.
People who didn’t
lose anyone
can’t really
understand.
I NEED TO GO BACK HOME,
even if home
is no longer there.
Have to see
for myself.
Have to know.
Have to
go.
THE SUZUKIS’ YELLOW HOUSE
stands in front of me
like a beacon—
the only house
left on my street.
Half sunk into the ground,
windows blown out,
covered in slime.
Big red X on the door.
Someone didn’t make it.
WARPED SKELETON,
sheetrock trash heap,
crumpled wood,
chunks of stone.
This used to be my home?
Now I can’t even
call it a house.
Down on my knees,
clawing through
oily slime
bare-handed.
Where is everything?
Nothing left.
WHERE ARE THE WISHES
I wrote
on strips of colored paper
for the Tanabata festival*8
so many years ago?
Every year
the same thing:
I want to be a
soccer player.
After he left,
too proud to write:
Wish Dad
would come
back home.
WONDER WHERE
Dad is now.
Hasn’t been in touch
for years.
Is he still in New York?
Or is he
up on some
mountaintop