Sloan Asakura
Kamikaze bugs look like my hands when i’m holding onto him
my grandpa refuses to shower
a waste of precious time, he calls it
and his clothes collect the multitude of scents
of a man who cannot admit
it is now difficult to take care of himself
when does time become cavernous?
only kamikaze bugs in june
orange-fire glimmering bodies
calamity themselves into routine,
endless junes, endless beatles
he rests in a lawn chair in the garage
and watches the people across the street
gives them dialogue, gives them secrets
his cane resting across his lap
a tattered copy of Catcher in the Rye
lay open on its belly to page 10
and the sun touches dry trees in the park
children running, tumbling over each other
and i remember him brushing sand from our jeans
remember collecting blooming pine cones
remember falling from the monkey bars
leaping from the swings
remember his wheezing laughter
our evening walks
and in my quiet, i watch him watching the people in the park
and i pour our coffee, each dark dream like a broken mind.
About the writer:
Sloan Asakura is a poet and memoirist originally from Los Angeles, now braving the Pacific Northwest. They have been previously published in Jeopardy Magazine, Rigorous, The Mantle, and Rogue Agent. Asakura is a founder and editor of MAWTH. In their free time, they can be found cooking comfort food, gardening, and contemplating persimmons.
Image: Arrested Expansion by George Grie (1962- ). Oil on canvas. No size specified. By 2007. By free license.
