Somewhere Among Read online

No one else here can read it to her.

  The book is a sound of home. Our home.

  The pages crinkle like tissue paper

  between my fingers

  paper so transparent,

  shadows of all the poems appear together.

  I can’t find “Heavenly Hurt”

  but read a few words of another poem aloud

  and wish I had practiced reading English more.

  So, I say aloud the picture book of poetry I know by heart;

  one Mom reads to this baby and used to read to me.

  She cannot hear me.

  Her doctor visits.

  He cannot doctor her spirit.

  A SLANT OF LIGHT

  I call Nana.

  She was a high school English teacher

  before becoming a librarian

  she’ll know “Heavenly Hurt.”

  Emily Dickinson

  #258

  Nana knows it by heart

  recites it to me

  but after I hang up I cannot remember any of it

  except

  the line “where the meanings are,”

  the number of the poem,

  and the poet.

  I look it up.

  From what I understand

  it will not make Mom feel better.

  HEAVY HEART

  My head is a blur,

  racing at escape velocity,

  the speed needed

  to “break free”

  from gravity.

  Before bed, I open the shutters.

  I need the expanse

  of space

  to empty my heart.

  Earth and its atmosphere

  cannot contain

  my sadness

  for America

  for Grandpa Bob and Nana

  for Mom

  or

  my fear

  of losing this baby.

  THIS IS MY MESSAGE TO SPACE

  I want to be up and away

  like Culbertson, the only American

  not on Earth

  on September eleventh.

  I would cut the cord to Earth,

  escape into your silence,

  find a different view.

  I don’t want to see or hear or feel

  any more sadness.

  LIGHTENING

  Mom cannot connect with poem #258

  or any poem

  she cannot disconnect from the news.

  We are surrounded by bad news;

  this baby is surrounded by bad news.

  I uncover Mom’s music player

  fast-forward to something upbeat—

  the Beatles and post-Beatles

  section of the playlist.

  I place the earphones on her belly

  and push play.

  “This baby needs some hope.”

  Jiichan smiles at me

  weakly.

  A SHOCK OF YELLOW HAIR

  In front of a temple

  somewhere in Japan

  Martha Stewart is grounded.

  No flights to America.

  Her head is lowered.

  She looks out of place.

  Mom, Nana, and I watch her on American TV.

  Mom reads to us from her magazines.

  Martha Stewart is all about home.

  With sunken eyes, quivering chin,

  Mom watches her

  here.

  Jiichan watches Mom.

  So sad to see someone so far away from home

  now

  Obaachan says, “Poor thing.”

  I will not go to school until Mom is stronger.

  ARRANGEMENTS

  Jiichan calls the school, information,

  then a taxi.

  He tells me we are going to church.

  I don’t tell him

  Friday is not church day.

  We help Mom to the entry hall.

  Obaachan follows, saying, “Not good.”

  Jiichan helps Mom into outdoor slip-ons.

  “Dangerous,” Obaachan tells Jiichan.

  I can’t believe she’s complaining.

  Jiichan takes Mom’s hand,

  she leans on his shoulder.

  It is the closest I have seen him to anyone.

  He supports her

  past Obaachan

  through the door

  past the ladder

  through the garden.

  Together they bow low

  and step through the gate.

  A plastic vomit bag

  waves in her hand.

  REACHING OUT

  I follow behind and

  turn to look at Obaachan

  standing on the porch

  under fifty-year-old bonsai.

  She says nothing to me.

  I plow through the gate.

  A neighbor looks at me

  over her mail

  but says nothing.

  Is there nothing to say?

  The taxi door opens automatically

  like an arm stretching out to help Jiichan with Mom.

  The driver asks him, “Is she okay?”

  Jiichan tells him she has a plastic bag

  just in case.

  The driver motions to me to get in the front seat.

  My stomach jumps to my throat.

  I need a plastic bag of my own.

  I’ve never ridden

  in the front seat of a car.

  My heart and stomach are already sick

  enough.

  CHURCH

  I’ve never been in a church.

  It is not what I expected.

  It is not what I have seen in books

  or on TV.

  This looks like a classroom.

  This is a classroom

  at a university.

  We step through the door

  and we are surrounded

  in a hug

  like from Barney and Friends.

  They know immediately what Mom needs;

  her whole body melts.

  Jiichan and I are stuck in the middle.

  I have never even hugged Jiichan.

  He does not hug.

  He does not melt

  only his chin melts

  now

  into his neck

  with his back tilted

  observing what is happening

  to him.

  Mom groans and then cries

  cries coming up from so deep,

  this baby must be crying with her.

  Smashed like on a rush-hour train

  among them

  I let it be a hug

  for me.

  I feel grounded

  and that feels good.

  THE GESTURE

  We attend their prayer meeting

  returning after dark

  outside the gate

  in the beams of the taxi’s headlights

  bouquets

  wrapped in florist plastic

  sparkle like a shattered stained-glass window.

  There is no one to thank

  I gather

  there are no words to say

  how much this means

  but I will quietly thank everyone

  who makes eye contact

  or says “good morning” to me in the days after.

  No one may say anything about the flowers.

  No one may say anything about the towers.

  No one may say anything about the dead.

  There are no words to say

  how much this means.

  JARRED

  Our dinner is sitting in front of Obaachan

  steaming mad

  she unwraps

  and stands each bouquet

  in the ceramic jar

  that held the Tanabata bamboo

  and places it in Great-Grandfather’s room.

  Jiichan says, “Good, eh? Flowers can brighten a room,”

  then turns the TV on.

  FRIDAY MORNING LIVE
IN WASHINGTON, DC, FRIDAY EVENING IN JAPAN

  Mom goes back to the TV

  to share

  the National Day of Prayer and Remembrance

  for the Victims of the Terrorist Attacks

  with Americans in real-time

  with astronauts in the International Space Station

  with believers of different religions

  outside and inside

  America’s National Cathedral,

  a hall of arches

  filled with

  cathedral tunes

  speeches

  and five minutes of a battle hymn.

  Across the world, across the universe

  people stop for three minutes of silence.

  Any comfort for Mom is comfort for this baby.

  SEPTEMBER 14, 2001

  A NEW DAY

  We wake to

  the news reports that Japan will assist America in war.

  Obaachan switches off the TV,

  saying, “Japan surrendered,

  agreed to

  no

  more

  war.

  Ever.”

  Japan can only defend itself. By law.

  Mom retreats

  into headphones and pillows

  waiting for Papa.

  Today I am stuck

  between Obaachan’s anger

  and Mom’s sadness.

  SEPTEMBER 15, 2001

  RESPECT FOR THE AGED DAY

  Obaachan reminds me

  she and Jiichan are not “aged” yet.

  SHOCK

  I see Papa’s broken heart

  on his face

  when he arrives on Saturday

  and sees

  how sad

  how pale

  how weak

  Mom is.

  He calls a taxi to take her to the hospital.

  They return hours later

  I hear him tell Obaachan

  the doctor gave her an IV.

  RESPECT FOR PAPA

  Obaachan says nothing when

  Papa suggests watching the evening news.

  Jiichan has control of the remote

  again

  to keep an eye on news here

  and there,

  he says.

  BETTER REST

  Papa sleeps through meals.

  Obaachan leaves him alone.

  Mom is sleeping more than watching TV.

  I am sleeping better while Papa is here too

  but I am awake during the day

  on guard.

  MORE WEIGHT

  Heart-crushing

  news

  from the search of ground zero.

  People from many nations have been lost.

  A young man from Japan

  lost his life in the field in Pennsylvania.

  And

  I’ve noticed

  American news reporters mention Pearl Harbor a lot.

  LET IT BE

  I wish Obaachan would stop

  telling me to go back to school.

  CHRYSANTHEMUM WATER

  After evening prayer

  Jiichan swats the air

  to put out the flame

  of the altar candle.

  His hand skims

  the candlestick

  and vase of chrysanthemums.

  Both

  tumble.

  Droplets

  bounce

  scatter

  gather

  at his knees.

  A flower head

  floats;

  a smoke stream

  sinks.

  Jiichan freezes, bowed.

  I scramble to get a zōkin

  to dab the floor before

  Obaachan

  snatches the flower

  heads to the kitchen

  throws it on potato eyes and skins

  from dinner preparation.

  Jiichan is startled back

  the water and flowers gone

  he doesn’t notice anything happened.

  I think Jiichan is watching too much TV.

  ALL THAT YOU CAN’T LEAVE BEHIND

  Mom is stuck in one section of the playlist.

  U2 songs over and over and over.

  While Jiichan and Papa watch the ten o’clock news

  I phone California, chat for a while before

  asking Grandpa Bob,

  “How do you forget the bad stuff?”

  “You never forget the bad stuff”

  he says

  he’s still learning

  to look beyond his worries

  to see what needs to be done

  to go on.

  “It’s not easy.”

  “Papa always tells me ganbatte.”

  I tell him that Mom says it’s the same as “hang in there,”

  but Papa says it means more:

  “to endure with strength

  with effort

  with patience.”

  “I’m sure your Japanese grandparents have had to do that.”

  I think Jiichan has,

  but I don’t say

  because I cannot say

  the same about Obaachan.

  That would be saying too much.

  Grandpa Bob and Nana have too much to worry about.

  BACK IN TRAINING

  I go back to school Monday

  to do what I need to do

  to keep going.

  I missed a lot of schoolwork.

  I missed curry for lunch.

  I missed Sports Day practice.

  I have to keep running

  doing the best I can

  to anticipate Masa’s moves.

  He does not cooperate.

  He says nothing, but I know

  while I was gone

  he didn’t have to pass the baton.

  He was the last runner.

  HAND TO HAND

  A long school day followed by non-stop TV:

  A Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs team

  in North Korea

  observes how Japan’s rice aid is distributed.

  Famine victims express gratitude to the team.

  People to people

  there is some good news

  between North Korea and Japan.

  I can’t tell how Jiichan feels.

  He is too quiet these days.

  SEPTEMBER 18, 2001

  GONE AGAIN

  After three

  fourteen-hour work days

  with a four-hour bus and train commute

  Papa was never really here.

  He is worn down

  tired and weak

  and has to move back home.

  Obaachan insisted

  for the sake of this baby

  we are all weakened

  and she says Papa will bring us the flu.

  Poor Papa,

  he is home

  sick.

  SEPTEMBER 19, 2001

  NOT THE SAME AMERICA

  Death can come through the mail.

  Someone

  put a stamp on poison

  and mailed it!

  Jiichan is out in the garden

  when I return

  inspecting each piece of mail

  local or foreign

  before taking it inside.

  Obaachan stands at the door.

  Says he is foolish.

  Nana says she won’t send anything for a while.

  A DIFFERENT NIGHTMARE

  Alone with the TV

  sound off

  the sky is falling

  crumbling

  through space

  crumbling

  slower than the speed of paper

  crumbling

  like

  ashes

  to the ground

  white powder rain.

  SCHOOL ANNOUNCEMENT

  The dangerous stranger was caught

  down by the river.

  No details.


  We weren’t even told what he did.

  I had forgotten to worry about him.

  Teacher tells us to keep our screamers on our bags.

  My group decides to keep

  walking to and from school together.

  “Mama Patrol” continues.

  MASA SERVING

  I have to stand in line

  today

  for Masa to serve fish.

  He doesn’t look at me

  so no cold eye

  not even the fish’s.

  I watch him serving.

  He seems serious

  but then

  he slaps my fish

  onto

  my tray

  ugh!

  it flops

  onto

  my indoor shoe

  yikes!

  and

  onto the floor

  yuck!

  I have a stain on my indoor shoe

  to remember

  Masa.

  There is no ! word for that feeling.

  Teacher makes him share his fish.

  I want to screeeeam,

  NO!

  FLIGHT 93

  The American Congress

  is considering giving

  gold medals

  to the crew and passengers.

  Can a young Japanese man get that?

  SEPTEMBER 20, 2001

  ANOTHER TYPHOON

  School closed

  houses shuttered

  remote controls gripped

  the TV anchorman warns us not to go out.

  Howling winds tell us the same thing.

  In other news—

  today,

  September twenty-first,

  is International Day of Peace.

  Tomorrow is the twenty-first in America.

  Peace is moving

  around the world

  through the time zones

  as the date changes.

  People in many countries have

  events planned.

  They are making an effort to find peace.

  Jiichan and I light a candle at the altar

  for Peace One Day.

  A BRIGHT SPOT

  Watching the American tribute concert

  for heroes of September eleventh,

  I am looking beyond the sad faces

  to the starlit stage