love « Yuri Kageyama

FEELING LOVED _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

FEELING LOVED _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

You would tug at my elbow,

Meaning No,

When I stared too long at a good-looking guy,

To be fair, you would never gawk at beautiful women,

Although you might have been doing it when

I wasn’t looking.

You lived up to that Ideal,

The perfect faithful husband,

At least in that way, which

Makes you a good guy,

Despite all your failings

In other ways.

Because that is what love is:

Doing everything that makes the person you love

Feel

Loved

And not doing anything that might make that person you love

Not

Feel

Loved.

You said as you lay dying:

“I feel loved.”

And I knew I had done good.

In our Love.

This is the second installment in a series, which follows the first installment “What Do You Think?” These poems will be part of a bigger piece I am working on about Japanese American men. I don’t have a title for either the series or the bigger piece yet. Go to this link for the next piece that follows this piece.

A Thought Today

A Thought Today by Yuri Kageyama

sometimes the cruelty is unbearable

the way they snicker

say No

you

don’t

even

exist

it hurts

you know inside

it is because they are white

and you are not

and you remember

the way it happens

over and over

not from when you are born

when your mother hugged you

and your father taught you

and you had friends

who had toys and laughed

you remember

how it happens when

the world finally includes white people

who hate you

say you look like a doll

ignore you

make you feel small

find new names for you

at least they didn’t kill you

but they always like to say

what do you think? a poem by Yuri Kageyama

what do you think?

a poem by Yuri Kageyama

what do you think?

it’s a trick question

what do you think?

with a right answer

what do you think?

not at all open-ended

what do you think?

as it might seem

what do you think?

it’s asking do you really love me?

do you truly understand?

what do you think?

the answer isn’t fixed

just a right answer, and a wrong

what do you think?

i love you so much

what do you think?

and long after we’re all gone

what do you think?

that big question is still there

what do you think?

This is the first piece in a still untitled series. Continue to this link for the rest of the series.

I went on to collaborate with a singer and musician to make this into a song.

FEARLESS AT 90 a poem by Yuri Kageyama

FEARLESS AT 90 a poem by Yuri Kageyama

I am fearless at 90

Wrinkles deep as the Nile

Hair translucent spiderwebs

Varicose veins throbbing blood

A map of fate on a carcass of skin

I am fearless at 90

I rap poetry with my dentures

Jazz dance with my wobbly knees

I rock like Jimi Hendrix

We Boomers invented Revolution

I am fearless at 90

I’m so close to the pearly gates

I’m on speaking terms with the angels

I’m so near-sighted I read minds

My fungus breath slays dragons

I am fearless at 90

My wheelchair zips Ferrari-style

My voice resonates five octaves low

My cane duplicates as a samurai sword

My hearing aid just blocks out noise

I am fearless at 90

I have no appointments to keep

No bosses to please

No dates to impress

No one can put me down

I am fearless at 90

I barely remember what’s up or down

Or who is where anymore;

Beyond gender, race, class,

Or even age

I am fearless at 90

My skin like washi paper

My fingers gnarled like a witch

I am neither man nor woman

White, black, brown or yellow.

I am just 90, and fearless:

Those days are long gone,

Not trusting anyone over 30,

I’ve given birth to a thousand children

And have a million grandchildren

I am fearless at 90

Although death is around the corner,

I’ve seen war and peace

Endured abuse to survive;

Don’t expect or need respect

I’m proud to be fearless at 90

^___<

Note from the poet:

I am not yet 90, but I feel this way and wrote this poem.

When I’m 90, I will write my real fearless at 90 poem.

The poem was published in the Winter 2024 issue of KONCH MAGAZINE.

More with Turner at this link. And also at this link for what we did together later.

A Letter to Isaku

A Letter to Isaku

This came from a corner of my desk when I was cleaning up recently. It’s a letter I wrote to Isaku as part of a school requirement. I still like this letter, and I will keep it.

Spring 1998

Isaku

When you were still unborn, you were already someone I knew very well. I could feel you thinking inside my stomach, sucking on your thumb, looking at your tiny toes, jumping with surprise _ with me _ when something startling happened, like a dog barking out of the blue.

I hope I don’t embarrass you with this letter, which Brother John O’Donnell tells me you will have to read before your schoolmates. But I would like you to know that I love you very much. And nothing will change that, ever.

These days, I feel you are sometimes unsure about your future. That’s understandable. Like other Sophomores, you are still so young, yet important decisions are coming up on you fast.

Having two nationalities, two cultures and languages may seem a bit confusing, but it merely opens up more choices for you. You don’t have to close the doors of opportunity too hastily. You have plenty of time. Be strong and believe in yourself, although it is OK to be weak, and you are not alone. Many people, including your teachers and friends who care about you, are there to help you.

I hope you do your best in your studies and try to grow up to be a fine young man. The world is a beautiful place, but it is filled with many problems and needs young people like you to care and at least give it a good try to bring about a change for the better.

I thank God every day for making you part of my life. I thank God for keeping you safe.

It is only after becoming a mother and watching you gradually grow into adulthood that I finally know why God chose to come to us as a little boy who grew up among us. He knew that would make it so easy for us to love Him. It seems such a very simple and so obvious a fact, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.

Have a good retreat,

Mom

HAIKU FOR MY FATHER by Yuri Kageyama

HAIKU FOR MY FATHER by Yuri Kageyama

A dead man’s desk

Snacks he’s forbidden to eat

Magic tricks for grandchildren

My father died in his 70s, a big man with big ambitions, prone to cruelty and violence but just as quick with his brilliance, generosity and humor. He calmed down a bit with age. And it was natural he was far more loved by his grandchildren, who found him just hilarious, than by his daughters, who had found him oppressive. His desk upstairs had to be cleaned out after he died. My mother found bags of treats like nuts and kakinotane he was secretly eating, because his doctors had put him on a strict diet for his heart condition. She also found toy magic tricks he had also bought secretly and had been practicing to impress his grandchildren. They adored him, played games, ran around outside with him, going fishing or going on goofy rides at a tiny park. They would laugh and laugh with this old roly-poly man, who was really just one of them, never mind he was a former NASA engineer and university professor. My mother used to say my father always acted as though he couldn’t care less if his grandchildren visited or not. She wondered why he would say such an obviously untruthful thing. That was my father, too proud and too big and strong to admit to any weakness, like missing his grandchildren. There is nothing as heartbreaking as love because even love must come to an end with death. But love that can’t be expressed openly, and must be stashed away like magic tricks in the drawer of a desk. I don’t know what to call such love. But it is love.

No Tears _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

No Tears
a poem by Yuri Kageyama

We do not weep, scream, even whimper,

Too scared to speak out;

Tears seek sniffles of sympathy,

Pleas want cuddles of resolution.

Born into darkness with no escape

We stay silent.

“Mama, I’m sorry, mama,”

Is not Something we say.

We drink in all those words

Like the salty tears we do not taste;

Just wait in fear,

Filled with hatred.

And the blind groping for justice,

The secret tongue-biting vow of revenge;

We we do not ask for pity,

We do not cry.

HAIKU FOR A RAINY DAY

HAIKU FOR A RAINY DAY By Yuri Kageyama

Separated

Kimono sleeves are wet though

It is not raining

あえぬひと

きものぬれるや

ふらぬ雨

HOPE A poem by Yuri Kageyama

HOPE

a poem by Yuri Kageyama March 13, 2022

My son used to say:

Mommy, your boiled eggs are so good,

The best in the world;

We would sit together on the grass,

Munching on boiled eggs

Simply perfect,

Smoothly moist when peeled:

Mama no yude tamago wa sekai ichi oishiinda

That little voice promises;

How blessed I am to be in a world

That has the chicken and the egg,

Whichever came first, and clean water to boil.

How blessed I am to be in a world

To have a son who sees love

In an egg boiled in water.

DIAMOND RING a poem by YURI KAGEYAMA

DIAMOND RING
a poem by Yuri Kageyama

That ring
Solitaire
That glistening rock
Magical
Probably stolen from Africa
No matter
Broken promises
Please marry me
Sitting on a velvety
Cushion
Cartier Tiffany’s
Harry Winston
Van Cleef & Arpels

After the young woman my son just broke up with
That young woman who played the violin
Asked me to go with her
To the clinic to get an abortion
I give her my grandmother’s diamond ring
The only diamond ring I’d ever owned
You can do whatever you want with it
Throw it away, pawn it away,
No, no, no, I can’t take this, she says
No, no no, I want you to have it, I say

With the passing of years
We outgrow our fetishes
I wonder if she still plays the violin
I don’t wonder about the ring