Grandmother (an excerpt from the poem by Naoko Fujimoto)

My grandmother wears a faded green apron
in the kitchen and always eats

pickled Japanese radishes

grains of rice

or oranges

but she is losing her weight
for the paulownia casket

no ash for her bones

she writes sales slips but no letters
with her earthworm-like hand writing

her parchment fingers give me
a lump of sugar

no expiration date for sugar


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