Mariko Kitakubo

 
                                                     


                                                             
 
                                                        suddenly
                                                        the shadow of a moth
                                                        growing larger
                                                        after an embrace
                                                        difficult to resist
 
 
 
                                                        quietly
                                                        in a corner of the kitchen
                                                        I'd like to sprout
                                                        in order to escape
                                                        from the potato masher   
         
 
 
                                                        a melody
                                                        of the Galaxy
                                                        I listen
                                                        for memories that left
                                                        with a shooting star
 

 

                                                        as her death anniversary nears,
                                                        I sit beside my memories
                                                        through the evening
                                                        the lovely voice
                                                        of a tsukutsuku cicada
 
 
                    
                                                        finding solace
                                                        in the impossible
                                                        here I am
                                                        in a bubble bath
                                                        perfumed with ’green forest’

 
 
                                                        to warm
                                                        there is plum sake
                                                        contemplating
                                                        the first half of my life
                                                        I wander back here


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