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.

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