While Obaachan is out on errands,
I pull the step stool
into Great-Grandfather’s room
where Mom and Little Sister and I will stay together.
I am still too short to reach the ceiling.
I get the long-handled shoehorn
peel a star from the paper
place it on the tip
climb the step stool
and stick the star to the ceiling.
In the afternoon light
it looks a little messy
but at night
the starry, starry
ceiling brightens the room.
I wish I had put them upstairs
where I am sleeping now
but while Obaachan bathes
I sit under the starry ceiling
and wait for Little Sister
and Mom.
SOMETHING FOR JIICHAN
At breakfast I tell Obaachan I want
to brighten Jiichan’s hospital room
with flowers from the garden.
I don’t ask to spend money.
Cosmos are finishing their bloom.
Obaachan looks disappointed in me.
“A flower might disturb his roommates.”
Disturb?
“Allergies,” she says. “You must think of others.”
HEARTACHE
In music class,
my brain is out of sync
I am not getting the fingering
of a tune on the pianika.
Masa isn’t either.
He gets up
grabs a mallet
and clinks the length
of the xylophone.
Teacher instructs him
to sit down
at his pianika
like the rest of us.
Three times through the song I can play it by heart.
Two p.m.
futon swatting
keeps the beat with us.
Throughout the day
back at home
balcony by balcony
futon pounding
echoes
the heartbeat of the neighborhood
I could feel in my chest
there
stronger than
here
my heart is weakened
choking back tears for Jiichan’s heart.
BANDAGING
Choosing yogurt-drink cups
bandages
boxes
wire
straws, and
using paste and paints and clay
we construct art project number two.
Sachiko wraps bandages
around
yogurt-drink cups
building a wobbly tower.
I cannot think what to do with a strip of bandage soaked in watered-down paste.
My wish for better skill in crafts has not come true.
I wrap this way
that way
it takes shape
of a heart.
I paint it purple.
I can’t tell what Masa is making.
BRIGHTENING JIICHAN
Wish I knew how to make origami flowers.
Jiichan taught me to make cranes
before nursery school.
I told Obaachan I wanted to make one thousand cranes for Jiichan.
“He’ll think we’re not telling him something.”
He will think he is sicker than he is.
So while the paint is drying
on my bandaged heart
I make one crane
pierce it
with a straw
stick it in a piece of clay at the bottom
of an empty yogurt-drink bottle.
Jiichan says “American ingenuity”
when he sees it.
His eyes sparkle over his mask.
HAND TO LIPS
A squeaky cart stops outside Jiichan’s room
a nurse sets dinner
tray by tray
behind six curtains.
The coughing patient in the opposite corner
says he doesn’t need it.
Jiichan’s not interested
in the rice, miso soup,
stewed chicken and vegetables.
He was doing better on the IV.
Obaachan picks up the miso soup
holds the plastic bowl to his lips—
lips that asked her to marry him by saying,
Will you make me miso soup?
the old way of asking to spend a lifetime together
making miso soup
as long as they both shall live.
For the first time since they married
someone else is making his miso soup.
A MATCHED PAIR
Mom and I usually send presents early
to Grandpa Bob and Nana
to avoid the Christmas mail rush.
Obaachan digs through her closet
presents
a choice of three
unopened boxed sets
of his-and-hers handkerchiefs
stashed away for emergency gift-giving
saying
we will wrap and mail them
on our way to the hospital.
I choose the dark blue and pink flowered handkerchief set.
Of the three, that is the one I think they may like.
But I have never seen them use handkerchiefs.
Today is a national holiday.
Obaachan forgot Culture Day!
She cannot send them until Monday.
UNDER THE ROCK
A list of
things for me to do
things for me to get
things for me to clean
waits for me
on the shoe cabinet
after school.
Obaachan forbids me to ride my bike.
She will not budge.
She says one bad thing can lead to another.
Especially when you’re worried.
Keeping busy does not stop
my worries.
It only makes me tired.
Falling asleep
doing my homework,
I fall even more behind.
Obaachan nods off
during my nightly reading assignment.
She is starting to crack.
LOSING GROUND
No flower heads
at the top of my papers,
I sit in at recess
to catch up on math
and kanji.
Never behind,
I’ve always stayed ahead
to show I know
double what teachers think
I should know.
Teacher gives me
a metal ring
with small blank flash cards
dangling from it
and shows me the kanji to copy.
“Practice where you go,” she says.
She knows I spend a lot of time
on buses and trains.
(I told her our family matters.)
I am not sure my brain can keep up with flash cards.
STRETCHED
Too many chores,
too much homework,
too much catch-up,
I cut corners.
Obaachan takes the time to notice.
She yells at me
clenched teeth, muffled voice
so neighbors can’t hear
that I am using the inside broom outside.
I have been saving steps all week
instead of
getting the proper broom from the shed.
Obaachan will really be mad
if she climbs the stairs and sees
I don’t put the futon in the closet every morning.
MINDFULNESS
But like Jiichan
I give each plant
one after
one tin cup
full of water.
A hose would be e
asier, faster
but
I see what he sees
in watering
slower
drizzling gives me time
to notice leaves
holding sunlight
to see leaves
holding sunlight
to enjoy leaves
holding sunlight
I climb the ladder
step by step
into Jiichan’s world
until Obaachan pulls me down to Earth.
FUTURE HOPE
I talk to Grandpa Bob and Nana
about Miki
using Miki’s name
Miki this,
Miki that.
Obaachan doesn’t understand English.
She doesn’t say anything
after I hang up.
SILENT TREATMENT
Over
the crackle and buckle
of plastic takeaway boxes
we picked up for dinner,
I ask to turn on the TV.
Obaachan nods; I search for a comedy
but find the news.
Ground zero cleanup continues.
Thousands of people are missing in America.
Ehime Maru recovery ends.
One high school student is still missing at sea.
His bones will not join his family
under their gravestone.
“So sad families are apart.”
No response. Why?
Using the wrong broom? Naming Little Sister?
Tonight, the coldest night so far,
I soak in the hot bath
too long.
Obaachan is tired and
not pleased.
I scramble under blankets
to capture the bath heat.
Cold is a weight
like heat.
No sunny room
no heaters
no place to get warm
except the bath and under blankets,
I am wondering which is worse
cold or hot
silence or fussing.
NOVEMBER 8, 2001
OUT OF THIS WORLD
Night and day
Miki sleeps
in a glass box
except when Mom is feeding her.
Night and day
Mom feeds Miki
talks to Miki
reads to Miki.
(I like to say Miki.)
They are in their own world
together.
Miki doesn’t open her eyes
when I read or talk to her
through a mask
and the glass,
but her mouth moves.
It’s funny.
Being with them
is like being on vacation
from the world.
There is a gray phone
for international calls
in the lobby.
Mom calls Nana and Grandpa Bob once in a while.
They need a vacation from the world too.
GOING ON
The TV in Jiichan’s hospital lobby
reports it is an American holiday,
Veterans Day, November eleventh,
to remember the soldiers after World War I.
A day now to remember
all soldiers of all
America’s wars.
It is also the birthday
of the Ehime Maru Memorial Association.
A memorial will be built to remember the boys and men.
What is needed to go on—
to remember.
This news is not so stressful,
but I don’t tell Jiichan.
Instead I tell him
Grandpa Bob called to report
comet debris will hit the Earth’s atmosphere
with a light show
next week
from
two a.m. to four thirty a.m. Tokyo time.
Eight thousand meteors per hour!
Then I realize Jiichan won’t be able to see it
from behind this curtain.
NOVEMBER 12, 2001
ELEVATION
Under Mom’s pillow,
the alarm clock beeps.
So cold I don’t want to get up
I pull on my coat under the blankets,
tiptoe through and out
up the ladder to
the roof of the porch
to watch the light show.
No one else is out.
Maybe it’s on TV.
From above,
astronauts keep watch.
From below,
I watch the trailing light
between us.
Looks like stars
are falling from the sky
but it is just a comet
falling in pieces.
No constellations are changing.
I make a wish anyway
that everything will be all right
and remember
Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Happy Thought”:
The world is so full of a number of things
I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.
After the towers went down,
Mom could not hear me recite it by heart.
Now Jiichan has lost heart.
To be “as happy as kings” is not so easy,
but I fill my heart with this sparkling treasure
hoping to push out the ache.
NOVEMBER 19, 2001
THE EARTH QUAKES
I’m dreaming
I am nightmaring
the floor, windows, walls
rumble
shudder
tremble
like Godzilla is walking up to the gate
tremble
shudder
rumble
I’m not nightmaring!
I scramble
slide the door
look to see
the porch light shining
on Obaachan’s face
at the foot of the stairs.
We look at each other
and step back into shadows.
At the hospital
Jiichan tells me
he didn’t feel the earth move
but, from the lobby window,
he saw some stars fall.
Obaachan is not pleased.
Jiichan is supposed to rest.
AFTER SCHOOL
Coins and a note
on the shoe cabinet
tell me
Obaachan is spending the whole day
at the hospital with Jiichan
and
for me
to visit Mom and Little Sister.
ON MY OWN
I take the bus
to visit Mom and Little Sister
studying flash cards
on my lap
under my errand bag
(I don’t want anyone to know I need help).
Mom is walking
looking healthier
stronger
wondering where Obaachan is.
I tell her
hand her mail
and
change the subject to
“This baby sleeps a lot.”
Her eyes are always closed.
“Miki is growing stronger,” Mom says, beaming.
Miki? Really?
Mom shows me the copy of registration papers
Papa filed at our city office
naming this baby, Little Sister,
the name I found
on my own.
TIME TOGETHER
Mom has two hot canned teas waiting.
We sit beside Miki’s glass box.
Mom chats about
her visitors,
her phone calls,
her meals;
she asks about
Jiichan,
my class,
my time alone with Obaachan.
I can’t tell her much.
<
br /> I watch Miki
grow stronger
while sleeping
until Mom says,
“It’s time to go.”
I say good-bye
reaching a disinfected finger
toward Miki.
Her fingers curl one, two, three
around it.
Mom squeezes me
gets my sugar
and says,
“I am sorry we’re not ready to go with you.”
“Me too.”
WRONG TURN
To the bus stop
I take a street
lined with gingko trees.
Leaves,
heavy like paper plates,
clink clink
from branches
paving the sidewalk
with gold.
I click my heels in dance steps
I would never do with Obaachan.
MARCHING
Obaachan returns
plods through the hall
stands over me
leads me
to the entry hall
and
motions to my shoes.
I know
to take time
to turn them
toes to the door
after I enter.
My shoes’ toes are facing the door.
I look up at her.
She shifts
into mad.
A deep breath tells me—
gingko fruit!
Stinky like vomit.
I tracked in
more work
for myself.
Scrub these shoes!
Scrub the floor!
Scrub the stone path!
Good thing I am used to the smell of vomit.
FLIGHT
Cloaked in gray coats
capped in black berets
magpies
flick
silver tails and
sky-blue wings
swing
electrical wires
pick
Great-Grandfather’s palm
flick
swing
pick
twittering
same notes
same notes
same notes
flick
swing
pick
tittering
twittering
teetering
between earth and sky.
I enjoy them from Papa’s window.
Obaachan bolts from the front door
shouts and shoos
them away with the garden broom
I had left in the entry hall.
ALONE ON ERRANDS
I am watching my step
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