the great tori gate
towering over the sea
remembers the Bomb
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Tag: hiroshima
2414r
a short flashes white
on the sleeping commuters
hiroshima tram
2036r
first flower to bloom
in Hiroshima’s wasteland
white oleander
1571
hiroshima tram
653 at ground zero
many times a day
1397
even in winter
flocks of paper cranes
children’s memorial
867
after the bomb
ash and black rain
flowering oleanders
533
clockwork of water
the bamboo vessel swings down
strikes a drum of stone
六十六
343.2
vermillion portal
rising from a slate gray sea
the symbol of pi
Image by Chiharu Mackenzie
330
over long decades
glass slivers dropped from her skin
tears of August 6
329/ tanka
in Hiroshima
on a tram at ground zero
overhead wires
short out– a ferocity
of light floods the crowded car
5/18/15
in Hiroshima
a twelve year old girl’s statue
leis of paper cranes
Carp 4/11/15
spring morn– Wife dances
folds up futon, makes coffee
Tigers lost to Carp!
A Tale of Hiroshima
The plump tabby visited Bob and Sue in their small one room about three times a day, each time becoming a meal for him. Eventually Bob named him “Boswell” and Sue gave in to her husband’s literary pretensions. There were no children to consult on the grave matter of choosing a feline name.
Without landlord approval they installed a pet door. Their heating bill would go up but that was nothing to Boswell’s convenience.
Besides, what could compare with the warmth and affection of a cat snuggling up to them under the futon on a cold, winter night? In the distance would be the whistle of the hot noodle vendor and up close would be soft purring.
And what better entertainment than Boswell stalking a huge moth and devouring it in a gulp?
Perhaps the crowning point in their relationship with Boswell was Sue crafting a collar for him. This was a stunning array of garnet, rhinestones, and tiger eye with the cat’s name inscribed on a silver disk.
About this time was when they decided to move back to San Francisco and there was not a thought about their animal companion not accompanying them. Sue started researching the fees and immunizations.
Then one day Boswell sauntered through the pet door. There was a small sheet of paper tucked under his collar.
“My name is not Boswell,” the note said in English, printed by hand. “And I belong to the little girl upstairs in 1271. Most Sincerely Yours, Snowflake.”
Bob and Sue departed Japan without their friend.
