October 15th, 2012
“The commander’s name was Gochoo Anayama!”
There was a sudden spark
in my father’s brain.
When Anayama slapped
Grandfather’s left ear in the war,
he lost his hearing.
“Grandfather asked me to slap him back,”
my father said on the bed. Before I slept,
my father used to tell a story about an angel.
The angel wanted death for the first time,
so he lied together with dying soldiers.
An old nurse held his hand
and took his pulse.
Her fingers were warm
like spring dirt. The angel woke
in a field of dandelions...
“Welcome back” was that I wanted to hear.
My father hummed
a stardust minuet. His right arm
conducted the music. The left half of his body is still
and quiet under a wool blanket. He said,
“It was a delicious flatfish with white cream sauce.”
I pushed the wheelchair
to Grandfather’s favorite restaurant
fourteen hours ago.
“I missed you so much,” my father fell asleep again.