Fukushima
And I cannot help but think of Japanese lore
that a thousand cranes folded can get you a wish.
Would I wish for my health or my mother back?
Ma you died of cancer and it isn't a waste because
Fukushima isn't that a mountain?
Or a city. You're not getting to the heart of it
the plant is Fukushima Daiichi –
or is it a mountain?
Or maybe I could just get my health back.
That I could hold in people the number of stars I can see
here under the moonlight while I lie on my back
and look out at something as infinitely trite as
possibility –
and Fukushima, is that a mountain?
I'm shouting now because you can shout at stars,
I'm praying because hoping feels useless and I'm hoping
some atheist doesn't take this as pro-God,
because
isn't Fukushima a mountain?
Work with me here. Let me lie down in its shadow
a strong and towering mountain –
here because of tectonic plates, or something,
and solid and I'll hold my hands against it.
Ma, I'm holding a mountain!
We can beat cancer.
Ma – it's in my two hands
and Fuku-fucking-shima isn't that a fucking mountain?
There are tears down my face,
I'm shouting but it is victory.
I am carrying a mountain and you cannot undo that –
I would go to its heart,
It would weigh in on me from every side
(Fukushima are you a mountain?)
Here it grows much more urgent
there is a resurgence
the repetition finally gets through
a final push and we are through with
Fukushima isn't that a mountain?
It isn't a pantoum
or a series of sonnets –
I wanted both but I wanted Fukushima to be a mountain.
I could touch it and say, 'Stay'.
I could sleep next to it.
I could hold it gently in my arms.
I could lay it softly down.