Notes from Kichijōji

i crawled into my cocoon a butterfly and emerged a caterpillar
fragile and fleshy

“humility”, twenty-three

Everything i see is
faded
a paler version of what i know it to be i want so badly to see it
in technicolor
blooming
to feel its beat rattle my bones
and bathe in its likeness
i want so badly to
breath it in
but some things aren’t made for me.

“entitled”, one

suits are suits are suits are

people are sons are

mothers are

wanted are

worthy

“rush hour, shibuya”, nineteen

like a mouth before braces

the city stacks on itself

i want to floss it apart and

make sense of it

knowing full well

some countries

don’t value straight teeth

“cultural assimilation”, twenty-eight

you swirl in my head
like the さくら that swirl around it

inokashira-kōen, april 6, seven

i live in the shadow of

a version of me

who doesn’t exist

“potential”, five

i find my reflection at 9:39am

a glimpse in a combini window

on my way to the station

have i forgotten what i look like

since i left the house at 9:18?

9:47am, april 8, twenty

the red lights of the city blink, i blink back

we’re strangers, sizing each other up

despite having known each other for years

“shinjuku”, 1 month before departure, twenty-four

with every passing day my heart beats

in rhythm with the tick of a clock

two months from now i get on a plane due west

the sun will set before me where it once rose

i’ll sit on my balcony in the humid haze of summer

i’ll sip coffee and listen to a symphony of cicadas around me

singing on and on ...

japan gone

“anticipation”, thirty-six

i watch my family on the screen like a cartoon

it’s a familiar show; i watch it daily

they jeer and joke behind the static

my mouth opens but the channel glitches

i can’t track the conversation
my hand reaches out, they reach back
but the static shock of the screen stops us from touching

“reverse culture shock”, home, twenty-five