Radio Tower-- Poem

after 3/11/2011 in Japan

“Run up to the hill,”
I repeated it from the radio tower.

Tsunami slithers through the seaweed garden.
A child was held in its mother’s arms on the bridge.

They were the hill.

The microphone slipped from my hand.

Like a hundred other ambiguous bodies,
clay envelops my face.

..........Clovers grow. Their dewdrops

glitter under the stardust. Can I be promised
to return to the earth like everyone else,

like a beautiful mermaid, like

my grandmother?