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