A pillow and an egg fought for a good seat.
Nothing got in the way. Save the exercise. Nostalgia is better split two ways. Holiday better alone. If you are lame. Warehouse. I remember dancing shoes. Lotsa boos. And Saturday afternoons. At which point we found the rainbow. And the leprechaun. Fools gold. Beat the rush. Hush. Why do I see a fish market. Hang the dock. When I close my eyes. Why do.
And maybe one of us is crazy.
What a lame profession. Full of possibility. Ireland. Family. Future. Land of the brave. Opportunity. And stop telling me how to raise my kids. I have none. I want some. Stability. Unwavering waiver. Flavor savor with a plan. Damn. Get off the porch unless it’s comfortable.
I had to eat flies.
Couldn’t live in a town full of mermaids and rebel flags. I sure do like cheese grits. Get on board. Muddin’ time. Couldn’t shoot a gun. So much culture. Overwhelmed. Tokyo Japan. Douglas Georgia. Chicago Illinois. Nine answers to never a question. This poem.
A cappella.
Friday night at the drugs. Used to believe in too many voices. Where are you Freddy Kruger. First. Second. Minute. Rice. Chef. Boy. Talk. Tablature. Discipline.
Coffee.
Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.
After writing this poem stream-of-consciousness style I looked up the title and discovered that it is a form of Japanese rice cake. It is interesting to me that in the 8th stanza of this poem, the word rice is used...
ReplyDeleteI thought about explaining this day to you...It was a long one. I took the overnight bus from Shinjuku, Tokyo at 10 PM and arrived in Okayama at 6 AM. Mochitsuki requires the whole day, family, and friends. The men hit the rice with usu kine (long hammers?) until it is blob-like. Then the women, with cornstarched hands, roll it into balls. I got to do both! There is biru (beer), sake, bbq, okashi (sweets), and my favorite is anko (red bean) mochi. The art of Mochitsuki is dying and I was honored to be a part. It was beautiful to see the old and young, men and women, japanese and American gaijin (that`s me), gathering to continue a tradition. I slept 14 hours that night in my futon. ~S
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