when my father comes out again——- he—
a heap of bones too hot to touch—— the man
in uniform hands me chopsticks——-bones
shattered coral branches——-i wrap a few
a white powder——-porous father——-spilling
through my handkerchief——-my sister grabs
the chopsticks——-picks silver-filled teeth
heavier than bones——–please stop——-the man
invites everyone to transfer my father
to the urn bone by bone——-chopsticks diving
deep into the bone——-the kneecap——-the femur
breaking spilling my father——-please stop
his former students now professors ceos
cry “sensei!” but you could say——-you should
know——-i——-was his first student who failed
spectacularly——-his love——-harsh powder
spilling through my fingers——-stop——-the man’s
clinical voice tells which bone goes
where——-what function it served——-look
at this jawbone——-gray bone doesn’t mean
sick just uneven heat——-he scoops up
the rest the powder and all——-into the urn
puts my father’s glasses on top——-the only
thing fire didn’t touch——-shuts the lid with
a clink——-then no more please and that was that

 

 

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Miho Nonaka is a bilingual poet from Tokyo. She is the author of The Museum of Small Bones (Ashland) and the Japanese translator of Louise Glück’s The Wild Iris (Kadokawa). She teaches literature and creative writing at Wheaton College.

 

 

 

Photo by Andraz Lazic on Unsplash