the Valentine’s Day
for only girls and women
no lights are on
the store is conserving electricity
fish
wrapped in plastic
shimmer
even without case lighting
poor fishermen!
for some of them
this may have been their last catch
* * *
cashier lines wind through the store
customers buy just for the day
their handbaskets almost empty
I ask why
our basket has two bottles of water
prepackaged meals
tea
we have supplies at home
Father says, to donate
access to some areas is taking time
relief centers do not accept fresh vegetables and fruit
from the public now
13:12
my heart pounds
we’re surrounded by shelves of packaged snacks
nothing moves
no one moves
no one loses their place in line
Father considers a chocolate bar
for you and Mother, he says
we decide not to buy it
when he hands Mother the shopping bag
he says, not much
she says, this helps, thank you
Father sleeps through
the afternoon
on the floor next to us at the table
14:59
I duck under the table
Mother hands me origami paper
a group in America, Students Rebuild,
asks people to make a crane
take a photo
post it on their page
with a message to the people of Japan
she shows me their Facebook and Twitter pages
children and adults have made cranes
the group’s logo is a red dot like the Japanese flag
with a crane-shaped piece missing
the red crane is flying
out and away
from the red dot
I fold a red paper
and
press
and
open it
to release
a flying crane
this red crane carries
my message
within its folds
Dear People of the Northeast,
My heart is broken for you.
from Maya
Mother uploads the photo
onto the group’s page
and her page
with the message
“Carry On”
she receives over fifty “likes”
* * *
the doorbell rings
a neighbor hands over
the neighborhood clipboard
telling us to read then pass along to
Grandmother, the next and last person on the list
the clipboard reminds us of emergency procedures
informs us of possible energy blackouts
starting tomorrow
and
schedules us for the fire alert group
Father returns from delivering the clipboard
reporting Great-grandfather and Grandmother are fine
after a hard day’s work
they are eating dinner in a darkening room
* * *
Mother has already restricted gas and electricity use and
has turned off the toilet seat heater
sitting by solar lamplight
I hear
in the distance
growing stronger
louder
closer
clank! clank!
our neighborhood group
walks along the streets
striking sticks
and chanting
Watch out for fire!
clank! clank!
in winter
neighbors follow a list
taking turns
making the rounds
warning us to be mindful of heaters
now
clank! clank!
they warn us to be mindful of emergency candles
fires are a big danger
anytime
now
everything is moving and
March winds are blowing
I worry about broken gas pipes
and
electrical wires
when the house shifts
20:37
especially when it’s strong
and
29:56
shallow
wooden houses sitting close together
move
a lot
we are being
21:27
hit
21:44
from all directions
21:53
two at the same time
21:53
22:16
a closer
stronger one
I feel
myself shatter
into a thousand shards
bird shaped
flying out
in all directions
* * *
23:28
I shelter the red crane
in my hands
under my pillow
hoping
Earth will be still
this nightmare will end
and I will sleep
DAY 4
00:10
01:47
02:01
02:29
02:55
04:16
04:59
aftershocks are closer to us
earlier
people in the Northeast woke (if they slept)
to sirens and broadcast warnings
with
another tsunami alert
for the coast
it’s a false alarm
with
a warning
to be careful of aftershocks
07:16
the announcement of
no choir concert today
passes through our class telephone tree
the city hall and school are under inspection
no school until further notice
we are asked to stay close to home
07:20
in the news
up there
officials in white protective gear
check children for radiation
down here
city offices post on the Internet
a list of blackouts and
a guide to appliance consumption
the government encourages offices and businesses
to close to save energy
all trains have stopped
except one section of one train line—
the Keio line from our station to Father’s office stop
Father is going to work
he packs a shirt
underwear and
razor for the office
he may not make it back
* * *
I don’t want him to go
I don’t want to worry about him
but
I walk out with him and
hug him good-bye
he stops to look out to the fields
Great-grandfather strides toward a patch
with his hoe resting on his shoulder
good, eh?
Father’s voice cracks
he puts his salaryman bag on his shoulder
rests a hand on mine
tells me to take care
I tell him too
I watch him head to his job
at a computer
in a cubicle in Tokyo
Father trusts the structure of things
he works with numbers
and whatever he does
counts
* * *
I watch Great-grandfather
he strike
s Earth with the hoe
turns the soil
loosens it
moves forward
strikes it again
08:41
he keeps going
working
here
now
by hand
the starling follows him
pecking the soil
it is the only bird around
no bulbuls scavenge old crops
no crows swoop the skies
no doves coo
no thrush trills
no birds sing
this is a silent spring
morning
08:53
Great-grandfather strikes Earth
turns the soil
loosens it
moves forward
strikes again
and again and
again
like Earth will still be beneath him
like there will still be a harvest
like there will still be a future
Mother waves at me
standing next to her bicycle
she is waving to get my attention
but I wave back like “good-bye”
knowing she wants me to join her
to gather goods
to drop off
at relief centers
she moves on without me
09:01
10:02
11:11
* * *
sitting at the table with Mother
her phone dings
it’s an aftershock alert app
the phone
dingdingdingdingdingdingdings
before aftershocks
and
during
15:12
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
15:16
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
15:17
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
dingdingdingdingdingdingding
the frantic dinging lasts longer than the shock
I ask her to turn it off
she does
she goes back to pen to paper
there is no blackout
but
we could lose power
she’s saving computer battery energy
scrawling notes
planning the next stage of her relief effort
she asks me to help
shop and drop donations
by bicycle
and
tells me
I can lighten the weight of caring by helping
but
15:52
with each movement
no matter how small
16:25
I lose my footing
18:07
the death toll grows
but no one knows
for sure
how many are lost
getting relief
to affected regions is still not easy
we need good news
like the baby found alive
under rubble
after she was swept
from her mother’s arms
by the tsunami
she is reunited with her parents
who survived
this miracle, this joy
lightens
a little
but
the nuclear problem grows
19:25
more unstable
with each day
the company tells us it is working hard
but
Mother’s clients tell her the news coverage is alarming
from outside Japan
their radiation fears grow
stronger
with each report
20:03
and for me
20:06
with each tremble
* * *
when Father comes home
I want to confide I cannot face
all this sadness and fear
instead of saying
I am worried about radiation
fires and
“The Big One”
I say,
it’s not easy for me
to help Mother help others
he is slow to respond
then
asks me if I remember flying to America
remember what the flight attendant told us
to do
if air masks fall?
put yours on first
then help others
strengthen yourself, he tells me
* * *
I lie awake thinking
strengthen myself
how?
I am afraid
expecting
dreading the next tremor
but
I am off guard
reacting
fumbling my way
under the table
I go to the table
stand and
on a piece of origami paper
I write:
Dear People of the Northeast,
Each time Earth moves I am knocked off my feet.
I will find a way to strengthen myself.
from Maya
I fold
press and
release
with each gesture
I think of the people in the Northeast
and hope for everyone’s safety
I fold
press
release
fold
press
release
slowly
deliberately
with each gesture
I breathe
Earth, be calm
fold press fold press fold press
I cannot tell if Earth is listening
but with each gesture
I feel calmer
I bend the crane’s bowing head
pull its spreading wings
releasing it and
set it on the table
is that a spasm? a quiver? a tremble?
the ceiling is too dark to check the pendant light
but then
23:50
Earth strong enough to know
I don’t dart under the table
I hover
I want to fly away
the paper crane flits and flaps across the table
I grab on to its neck
we are off
through clouded skies
on paper wings
we fly
north
past Tokyo
past the nuclear energy plant
past the earthquake epicenter
to the one pine standing alone on the shore
after the tsunami ripped the others away
the crane’s neck bows
I slide onto the branch beside it
I have never seen such darkness
no light anywhere
I cannot see what is lost beyond
but I feel it
all
cool unirradiated wind from the north washes over me
beneath me
I feel warmth, life
rising and descending
from and to the tree roots
splintered and scarred
still, this tree stands
alone
shaken and scarred
still, many people stand
alone
at the arc of one aftershock
23:51
Earth again
one minute has passed between these two aftershocks
I am back
in bed
DAY 5
1:36
I sleep
03:41
04:59
deeply
06:09
until
the dingdingdingdingdingdingd
ing of the alarm clock
or
07:04
Mother’s phone app?
it’s the alarm
they are up getting ready for the day
I go to the table
Dear People of the Northeast,
I am worried for you and for me. Making cranes makes me calm.
I will make 1,000! I will think good thoughts for us.
from Maya
12:20
after lunch
I text Yuka to meet
her mother hesitates letting her come
out
under scattered clouds
we fall into each other’s arms
it’s colder than winter
we’re both wearing coats
both sad and worried
she tells me she’s staying inside
under the table
I tell her folding cranes makes me calm
so
I will fold one thousand
she wants to join me
comes home with me and
calls her mother
14:28
we
15:56
ride out
15:56
Earth’s
16:03
movements
together
we will fold one thousand cranes
together
we fold and press
Beyond Me Page 4
