if only I could see with their eyes

Memories—

like a package of mixed vegetables

that mustn’t be defrosted

Unable to follow after someone

leaving on a journey at a whim—

my life goes on as usual

The wonder of it—

a bit of love rests on my palm

after crossing the ocean airmail

Loneliness of being in love

in December—

my heart impervious to “Jingle Bells”

Even dressed up like an antique doll

some of life’s mud

cannot be concealed

To pass a day with nothing to do

I play a solitary game:

“pretending to wait for someone”

What sad and weeping voice is that?

Turn and see

steam rising from the rice cooker

Nineteen eighty-five, the year I fell in love,

winds to an end—

in my room, just me and my dieffenbachia

“The crocuses are out”

Suddenly I want to write a letter

opening with those words

Looking at a postcard

from a country of primary colors—

like the sequel to a dream

On the terrace, red with sunrise,

the fern puts out new fronds

to mark the coming of spring

On my table, coffee aroma so rich—

to think of living

with nothing but love!

Salad Anniversary

Through the falling rain,

a shower of shivering “S” sounds,

I watch your umbrella recede

Your disappearing figure,

a little too cool—

it’s always the man

who sets off on a journey

My profile a year from now—

what will it be looking at,

who will it be looking at?

I remember your hands,

your back, your breath,

your white socks lying

where you took them off

I long to see the festival in Goa,

but here I am stuck

in this land of Japan

Standing in the subway exit,

it hits me—

there’s no one waiting for me

Wait for whom, for what?

The verb “to wait”

was never so intransitive

“One basket 100 yen”

Tomatoes lined up at the shopfront

wear a disgruntled look

Happy in the kitchen

at the sight of broad beans

scattered like musical notes

Folding towels,

I wrap the smell of the sun—

perhaps one day I too shall be a mother

The flow of the river—

whatever I compare it to leaves out

the stones at the bottom

Sucking on a sugar cube

at the wane of spring,

I strip off the T-shirt

of my twenty-third year

Rugby ball bounds for joy,

concentrating in itself

all the pleasure of the struggle

Giving up on your love

today I try the season’s

first linen skirt, first iced coffee

Dream of climbing up and up

a flight of stone stairs—

the steps don’t fit my stride

Mysterious creature am I—

though lacking love,

I donate blood

Take off my contacts, blink,

and once again I’m Machi-chan,

alone

Taking my bruised heart,

I hurl it with all my might—

let tomorrow’s skies be clear!

Mornings I set back

my fast-running watch

I feel a nameless premonition

Wanting to steep myself

in the time before we meet,