Under the tree at the city library

in New York,

I sat down with

my classmate, Doumbia.

I drew

a map of my Japanese house

in my notebook.

This is my father's room.

This is my mother's room.

In my father's room

I drew my father spreading out his arms,

and I put a skirt on my mother.

Once

this was my room.

A mother cannot have her private room

until her child leaves home.

(Japanese housing,

Japanese women.

Both are tangled, constrained.)

As I used the sample expression

which we learned at the English class

today,

we laughed

looking at

each other.

We have come to this point

laughing together.

Now it is midnight in Japan.

My father and mother should be sleeping.

I laid the small house face down,

then

Doumbia

began to talk about

strong sunshine, Africa.

From “The Complete Poems of Ryo Kisaka” published in 1997 by Shichosha