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Mariko
Kitakubo
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Like Drifting Down, Piling Up
So very little difference
between life and death― they are long and slender, the fingertips of God
after the deep fog
of brain death,
where on the grassy plains might her heart wander? tonight as I hull kidney beans the stone engraved with her name is growing cold in her gaze glinting flecks of sand― Mother whom now I am permitted to meet only in dreams wondering whether further along this gentle curve are life and death, I see nothing but empty plains in the train window I am like a child worn out from calling its mother's name, my sweat and tears dripping straight down the same way words which I am powerless to convey drift down, pile up, autumn now approaches
From On This Same Star: Selections from the Tanka Poetry Collection Will,
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