Selected Poems
The Wind Phone of Otsuchi
Survivors come numb to Sasaki's garden above the sea, dragging grief
like dead sea birds, long after the tsunami. Hearts freshly martyred.
In every season, born, pilgrims enter this gardener's garden crying
and after it is said and done; we will all leave, stained in tears.
Bereavement worn softer over time may become putty, to fill cracks.
Light still comes through the glass, into the white framed phone box.
There is comfort in click and shush of a dialed, never connected
black rotary phone. Telephone number chosen is of a home, lost at sea.
There is calm in being alone, latching the door closed for privacy
anyone watching sees and knows exactly why the pilgrim is there.
Over the years, messages have changed from "Where are you? "and
"Please come home" to "Until next time, watch over us from heaven."
Survivors know the person they seek to speak to cannot hear them
but as long as there is breath, there is solace with the wind.
like dead sea birds, long after the tsunami. Hearts freshly martyred.
In every season, born, pilgrims enter this gardener's garden crying
and after it is said and done; we will all leave, stained in tears.
Bereavement worn softer over time may become putty, to fill cracks.
Light still comes through the glass, into the white framed phone box.
There is comfort in click and shush of a dialed, never connected
black rotary phone. Telephone number chosen is of a home, lost at sea.
There is calm in being alone, latching the door closed for privacy
anyone watching sees and knows exactly why the pilgrim is there.
Over the years, messages have changed from "Where are you? "and
"Please come home" to "Until next time, watch over us from heaven."
Survivors know the person they seek to speak to cannot hear them
but as long as there is breath, there is solace with the wind.
