in wake of Fukushima 2011
It is said Hokusai never intended to represent
a tsunami, but an okinami, a wave of the open sea,
erect, foam curling up its claw-crested fingers
over stunned boatmen surfing in reverence.
And I wonder what made that captive wave leap
out, release the dormant creature locked in
for centuries in shades of Prussian blue,
its delicate swirls spewing muddy torrents
over Fukushima’s shores, erasing in black ink
all shapes ever drawn, engraved or breathing,
its voracious appetite growing in silence, its heart
melting blackness into the heart of nuclear reactors.
What made it erupt like a maddened volcano
famished for blood, steel teeth crushing tiles, wood,
metal, belching in a roar engulfing homes, cars,
boats, buses, men, women, children, newborn,
unborn, all swept like broken twigs and fallen leaves,
carrying seeds that will not grow for seasons to come.
The wave of the open sea now speaks in tongues,
each curve, a threat, its filigree lines and blue hues
seem steeped in lethal pigments. In the print’s empty
spaces, spirits hold their breath while dotted droplets
filled with suffocated, inaudible voices, whisper:
Remember me, I no longer have this beautiful skin.
Remember the light that came out of my eyes.
Remember my story never to be told.
Remember my smile, my hands, my dreams
Hokusai, your okinami has lost its innocence.
—
First published by Sunrise from Blue Thunder: Japan Anthology
From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)
Metropolitan Museum 1 -2-3-4-5-6
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