Mizuko kuyo

Go child
Find the woman-god
Who rises from the water
Her silk hands webbed
Dragging out the pieces
Of time and grief and
Might-have-been

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The Day You Were Born

I woke up and the house was too empty. Where were mom and dad? I finally found grandma (I don’t think you remember her) and she let me crawl into bed with her.

Mother nursed her stories–natural childbirth, Lamaze, dad’s snack bag with Oreo cookies. There was never a moment’s doubt.

She loved you.

But what followed were dark times. The revelation of a relationship. His return to Guam. Arguments she drew me into. Recounting his dark sins to a 6 year old.

I remember once. Returning home from school. They had bought souvenirs from the Pay-Secs catalog. The boxes stacked in the formal living room. (I can still see the inside of that house)

I thought–oh, no, they are getting a divorce. Relief to find the Japanese doll instead. The one still gathering dust in her house.

All the things, the objects, more valuable than one of her children.

Lucky for you, only one…