by Clara Ray Rusinek Klein

Kyoto

I remember the way your limbs crossed,
the way you sat by the window,
the cool breeze, the chatter of birds,
the flutter, rustle of leaves.

You trembled,
hardly able to believe this was real,
that anyone could be so happy,
wind teasing your hair,
the comfortable clink of glasses,
murmur of conversation.

You know I loved you then.

Look into the sun and tell me
that’s not true.

We wait all our lives
for nothing.

One Night in Osaka

Waves of sake flow,
enough to drink elephants
under the table.

Belting karaoke,
badly butchering lyrics.
Cheesy pop plays on.

Cheers, clinking glasses:
salarymen toast success.
Waitress waits for tip.

Cheeks flushed from sake,
man slides under the table.
No one notices.

Drunks shout, sing in street.
Woman tries to sleep, can’t. Sighs.
Earplugs not enough.