Burning incense reaches my nose.
Obaachan is praying.
I don’t sleep. Much.
At breakfast I see
she has made an obento for Jiichan.
He has not called.
I am hoping this baby listened to me and did not come early.
ARRIVAL
Jiichan greets us,
instructs us
to wash hands
with disinfectant
and to put on masks
from dispensers in the hallway.
He says nothing.
A nurse tells us
Mom is too weak to see us,
but shows us this baby
wrapped in a pink towel
in a glass box.
Little Sister!
has a face.
Little Sister!
(I can say it out loud)
has black hair
and is dark. Red.
Little Sister!
doesn’t look like me at all;
she is small
but is big for her age.
Just like me.
OCTOBER 27, 2001
SOMETHING WRONG?
Little Sister does not cry
or open her eyes.
I get close to the glass
say her name
the name I found
—Miki—
with kanji
“mi” from mirai, future
“ki” from kibō, hope
“future” “hope”
I see her uncurl 1-2-3 fingers.
She likes it!
Obaachan says nothing.
Jiichan’s eyes sparkle
with tears.
OBAACHAN’S ORDERS
On the bus, Obaachan tells me
to go back with Jiichan to help start dinner.
She heads for the shrine to pray for Little Sister and Mom.
JIICHAN’S PRAYERS
The house is thick
with worry
with incense
with prayers.
Little Sister and Mom are weak
I hear Jiichan say
behind closed doors
they have to stay a long time
in the hospital.
Obaachan says nothing
about the expense.
I reach for one of Mom’s plastic bags.
My heart wants to throw up
but my stomach won’t.
A ROOM TO MYSELF
I toss
and turn
in bed
tossing
I see Mom falling
into the TV
turning
I see Mom whooshing
in bed
tossing
I see Mom lying
in a hospital bed
turning
I see Little Sister lying
in a glass box
tossing
I see my blue-sky wish
floating
toward the stars.
CREAM & RUM RAISIN COOKIES
Jiichan bows over a box
wrapped in a deep purple furoshiki.
The head nurse takes it
from his outstretched arms
and later, bowing, returns the silk cloth
folded.
In line for hours
outside the pastry shop
way downtown
he bought the best for the hospital staff.
“So they will give your mother
and Little Sister the best care.”
Obaachan says nothing
about the expense. In front of me.
Behind closed doors she mentions
hospital costs and the price of funerals.
OCTOBER 28, 2001
RUSHING
On a shinkansen
outside Tokyo
Papa hurries
to meet Little Sister.
ALONE WITH MOM AND PAPA
Mom is weak
whiter than pale
says nothing except
not to worry about her.
I hold out her collage
in front of her and Papa
and whisper the name I chose
for Little Sister.
Mom smiles.
Papa does too.
They like it. And so does Little Sister.
That’s what matters,
I hope.
WORRIED
Nana and Grandpa Bob call to say
they are coming.
Jiichan
and Obaachan are already worrying.
Jiichan is worried about bedding.
“Can they sleep on a futon?”
Papa says they can sleep anywhere any time.
Obaachan is worried about food.
“Wasting money on things they won’t eat.”
Papa says they will eat anything.
Papa says they are coming
to see Mom and meet Little Sister.
Nothing else matters.
Nana and Grandpa Bob are worried about flying.
They don’t say so
but I know so.
Everyone is
after seeing planes go through buildings
and down in a field
on September 11.
BREATHLESS JIICHAN
Obaachan makes a list
1) Check least raggedy
towels, sheets
A few new towels are needed.
“What kind of pillow would Americans like?” Jiichan asks.
Obaachan says, “Guests can’t complain.”
2) Air the futon and pillows.
The sun is not hot enough.
Sending them out costs too much.
Jiichan suggests buying a futon fluffer.
Obaachan tells him we don’t need that.
“They will not notice.”
3) Buy new pajamas that are presentable for guests to see.
Everyone agrees.
4) Scrub the bath, clean the tatami and kitchen.
The house is filled with chemical cleansers and incense.
It is not easy to prepare for living, breathing guests.
OCTOBER 28, 2001
EXHAUSTED
Papa has to be gone again
and left before I got up for school.
I will stick to Jiichan.
OCTOBER 29, 2001
SUN’S OUT
Before leaving for school,
I watch Jiichan pull
futons and blankets
out to air and
hear Obaachan push
him
with instructions
and complaints.
Poor Jiichan.
He has a long shopping list too.
At school Masa still eyes me.
I look up
over his head.
My faceless Sun painting
radiates from high
on the wall
among the others.
I am glad to know my little sister’s face,
but I am worried she came early.
BEYOND WORRY
Jiichan’s not on Mama Patrol.
I slide the gate
and find him
collapsed over his bicycle
eyes closed, mouth open,
his skin is fish cold, fish white.
I kneel beside him, slap his hand.
A pink print of my hand surfaces.
I pull my screamer
Obaachan comes running.
I scream,
“One-one-nine! One-one-nine!”
She runs back inside.
Sirens stretch from a distance
growing, coming down the main street
slowing, turning into our street
pounding, barging into the houses.
Men in uniform and crash helmets
rush toward the open gate
a stretcher between them
the man in front bends
the man in back bumps
through the gate
almost pushing it down.
A man on radio waits in the ambulance.
“I opened the gate
and found him like this.”
BEYOND KNOWING
They need to know what happened
to know where to take him.
“I don’t know what happened.”
One man asks for his insurance card
Jiichan mumbles
Obaachan, standing over us, motions to his wallet.
The man slips it
and my boshi techo
from Jiichan’s back pocket
hands them to me
I find the card inside
and watch my hand
give it to the man.
They decide on a hospital
bow over Jiichan
carrying him on the stretcher
through the gate toward the ambulance.
Obaachan tells them she will meet them there.
The ambulance door closes.
I can’t see Jiichan anymore.
Breath is knocked out of me.
I balance on Obaachan.
I look up at her.
She lets me go with Jiichan,
saying she will meet me there.
Flashing and wailing
the ambulance turns
in the direction opposite
of Little Sister and Mom.
I am alone with Jiichan in the back
I pat his hand
clutching my boshi techo and his insurance card
in my other hand.
I am alone in the waiting room.
No one else is there.
Obaachan arrives with his new pajamas,
the new towels, and a box of tissues.
“In case he needs to stay overnight.”
BEYOND REASON
What happened to Jiichan?
An attack? A stroke?
running tests
nothing we can do
we should leave
I realize
I could be alone with Obaachan
for a long time.
I don’t remember dinnertime
I don’t remember bath time
I remember Papa saying on the phone
he will be here tomorrow evening.
THE HOUSE TO OURSELVES
I don’t want to sleep
next to Mom’s empty futon
downstairs
I want to be up and away . . .
While Obaachan is in the bath,
I carry Mom’s pillow upstairs
pull a guest futon from the closet
and lie down.
Tears stream from the corners of my eyes
soaking my hair,
my ears, and her pillow.
Jiichan is weakened
Mom and Little Sister are weakened
I am weakened.
Obaachan comes up the stairs
slides open the door to check on me
I pretend I am asleep
she leaves me alone
I bury my face in Mom’s pillow
afraid
sick
and lonely
having any room
to myself.
A DAY IN THE LIFE
Without Jiichan and Mom in the house
silence
hurts my heart.
At four a.m. I move to the TV room.
Obaachan is not up yet.
Will she make me go to school?
I hear her blankets ruffle
then the closet door slide;
startled to see me
she says good morning
on her way to the laundry room.
She is going through the motions
of a normal day.
She calls the school.
We are going to the hospital
to see Jiichan.
WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE TO GO ON
Jiichan’s heart, the doctor tells us,
needs to rest
needs less stress
needs a stay
in the hospital.
FOR JIICHAN
Obaachan leads me down
the narrow street
that Mom calls “Angel Street”
because of a pronunciation mistake
she made on her first visit here
where
life goes on
chattering and clattering
eating and drinking
buying and selling
along
the way
to the shrine
near Obaachan’s neighborhood station.
At the foot of the torii,
the gate between street and shrine,
we bow low, once,
and enter the grounds
shaded by the city’s oldest trees.
At the basin, we ladle cold water
left hand, right.
I watch and follow Obaachan’s lead
tipping the ladle to clean the handle
(Something I’ve never done before).
She hands me my handkerchief from her bag.
Standing before the hall,
she hands me a coin to throw.
I clap before she doesn’t.
Ignoring my mistake,
she bows twice, throws a coin,
pulls the thick rope with two hands,
claps twice.
I am a beat behind her,
but we pray together, until
she bows once
I follow.
She buys a wooden tablet
writing, asking, wishing
for good health for Jiichan.
Her request
hangs on the frame
underneath the oldest shrine tree
and tap, tap, taps against
others.
A breeze?
An earthquake?
An angel lifting them to read ?
Back on the street,
shop to shop,
Obaachan buys grilled chicken on sticks,
octopus puffs, and discounted obento for our dinner,
fussing about the price of things.
FOR PAPA
A short workday.
A visit
with Jiichan’s doctor
with Little Sister’s doctor
with Mom’s doctor.
A visit
with Jiichan
with Little Sister
with Mom.
The hospitals let him stay long after visiting hours
before he takes the last trains
and busses
across Tokyo
home.
FOR MOM AND LITTLE SISTER
Time in the hospital
to get stronger.
The pile of money
Mom thinks Obaachan is sitting on
is getting closer and closer
to the ground
day by day.
This is what
Obaachan saved for.
FOR OBAACHAN
Nana and Grandpa Bob call
telling me to say how sorry they are
to Obaachan
and to Jiichan when I see him.
They ask if there is anything they can do.
They will not visit.
FOR ME
Back at school
I look up at my Sun painting
wishing I could add
Jiichan next to me
holding hands.
OCTOBER 31, 2001
FOR JIICHAN’S NURSES
On our way to the hospital
we buy almond crisp cookies
from the department store near the station.
Inexpensive,
shaped like leaves,
they are seasonal and popular.
So sad
Jiichan knows
no one can go
all the way into Tokyo
to buy cream and rum raisin cookies
�
��for the best care”
for him.
BEHIND CURTAIN 6
In the corner
by the window
Obaachan slides back the curtain
at the end of Jiichan’s bed.
We’re both startled.
Jiichan, too.
He’s sitting on the side of the bed
attached to an IV.
He says he is on his way to the toilet.
“Not good,” Obaachan says
slaps her hand to his forehead
and keeps it there.
She is checking his temperature.
Fever.
He wants to go to the toilet alone.
She doesn’t let him have his way.
Something has to change.
FOR US ALL
After just one week
two emergencies
two ambulance rides
hours of waiting
and worrying
I realize what day it is.
I scoop and eat
the insides of my dessert,
a whole persimmon,
and cut with a toothpick
triangles for eyes
and a slit for a mouth,
a scary face.
From the altar I get
a one-minute prayer candle
and light it inside the persimmon
and tell Obaachan,
“Americans make these
jack-o’-lanterns
from pumpkins
to scare away demons.”
Obaachan asks if this persimmon will work.
“I hope so.”
OCTOBER 31, 2001
HORROR
In bed I realize I missed the midterm tests.
Teacher didn’t mention a make-up test today.
NOVEMBER 2001
GIFTS
The Grandparents Day card
finally makes it to Nana and Grandpa Bob.
It came at the right time
they tell me
the card
and all the stamps brighten their days.
Something is coming for me, they say.
Teacher said nothing about making up the midterm.
NOVEMBER 1, 2001
NEXT BEST THING
A package of stars,
plastic ones that glow in the dark,
arrives from Grandpa Bob and Nana.
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