The Mended ShōjiFirst published in Clover: A Literary Rag #9, June 2015, pages 179–182. First written in December of 2000 and January of 2001, on my first visit to Japan. See also “Myōrenji,” “First Trip to Japan,” and “Fuji Over the Clouds: The Dangers of Travel Haiku.” I awaiting takeoff— while he looks out the window, his fingers flip through a magazine second in-flight meal— this time served with chopsticks descending plane— my sudden reflection in the video screen I I trees without leaves— first sight of Fuji from the bullet train leafless trees at Nagoya Castle— I choose a Western toilet warm December sun— the commuter train’s empty hand rings sway around the corner Ryōan-ji temple’s garden of raked sand— the beginnings of hail Kyoto station— a woman mops the restroom floor while I pee a break in winter clouds— gas station attendants bow to the departing car a day of sun, cloud, rain, sleet, hail, and snow— Kenroku-en Garden the Bashō bronze silhouetted against bare branches— the slow-moving river Mt. Fuji’s shadow— a dusting of snow on the bullet-train tracks I I I New Year’s Eve— a Japanese kite unfolded in the hotel lobby a little before midnight, a bowl full of soba warm in my hands waiting in line to ring the new year bell— breath fogs the air just before midnight— a box full of shells to count the bell rings the old rope smooth in my hand— new year’s bell fading first dream of the year— a reflection of Mt. Fuji in the just-melted lake the year’s first dream— a hawk’s eye in a martini glass first dream of the year— an eggplant rolls off the pinewood cutting board old good-luck charms piled by the shrine’s bonfire— the new year bell rings New Year’s Day— still a few persimmons in the neighbour’s tree new chopsticks wrapped in bright ribbons— the year’s first meal the year’s first sleet ticking at the window— the calligrapher’s flowing arm red capes on the stone foxes— the clack of bamboo in the year’s first wind year of the snake— hole in the shōji now mended |