remaining pink even after they were burnt,
father's bones turning a withered color long ago,
even so father doing his very best to live,
my bones growing up pale blue and warped,
father and I
thinking only of mother's pink bones,
and because we hide this from each other,
sometimes I can't stand it anymore
and bite into father's withered-color bones, breaking my teeth,
and father, rubbing my pale blue bones as if to make a spell,
at times weeps sloppily.
I secretly take out rouge
and apply it to my bones.
Only while I'm applying rouge
do I think I have the same warmth as mother's bones
and while applying it
I think of applying it to father's bones as well
and the thought embarrasses me very much.
Then, to the extent of my embarrassment,
my bones gleam truly pink.
On my back a river flows,
a clear, limpid river.
Someday I'd like to swim in the river
like a fish, I'm thinking.
A river no one knows,
a river I myself haven't touched,
in that river
someday I'd like to become naked,
expose myself, make myself transparent, I'm thinking.
Me, with such thoughts,
the river reflects upside down,
trying to carry me toward the sea that's begun to get dirty little by little.
(C) Nobuko Kimura / Hiroaki Sato