To the people of Japan, especially the people who work tirelessly to keep us safe, warm, and fed MARCH 9, 2011 not much time between good morning and good-bye out the door early Father goes one way to catch a train east to Shinjuku then later I go another way to walk to school when all’s clear Mother goes to the table to work at her laptop out into March wind I rush to meet Yuka my best friend since kindergarten Maya! she shouts to me we run, grab hands lean in, squint, and smile into each other’s faces we are sweaterless kaze no ko “wind kids” who don’t wear coats even in winter with no time to spare to be on time we hurry on at recess a time when we choose how we use our time, Yuka and I run out to meet under the cherry tree near the gym long time no see, I say she giggles Ready? Yuka stands behind me waiting waiting waiting for the wind to knock me back into her outstretched arms it takes big gusts and trust to fall back it’s not easy for me to let go there’s hesitation then panic the moment my toes are off the ground then relief— Yuka’s always there to catch me today’s wind is not a true March wind but we wait let go and fall as many times as we can until the playground clock says our time is up back inside my class lines up carrying our chairs to the music room we’re out of step starting and stopping bumping and scooting straggling before lunch each day these last days of fifth grade we practice for the spring choir performance at the city concert hall on Monday March 14 five days from now parents (mostly mothers) and grandparents will come at their appointed time make their way through the lobby then rush to seats as each grade files onstage takes their places sings and exits Teacher chose me to be front row center to clank blocks to keep the beat with her piano chords I love this task but it’s not easy each day we get lost in bird notes a thrush high in mulberry branches outside the music room begins his song when we begin ours he is trying to cheer us up— our song sounds so sad humans are fragile, we sing Teacher assures us the song will make hearts ring it does end on a higher note but it is no one’s favorite except maybe grandparents’ we struggle on with my clank clank trying to get them in tune life is mysterious, we sing walls windows tree limbs shudder the thrush disappears in flutters Teacher stands up 11:45 earthquake we don’t miss a beat grabbing our padded emergency hoods from the backs of our chairs putting them on our heads in case something falls we have earthquakes all the time but this time Earth rocks us in circles someone says, this is eerie Earth stills we settle back into our classroom where there are desks to slide under if it happens again it doesn’t early afternoon in the gym all fifth-grade classes come together to practice Moriyama’s big hit, “Sakura” a spring song for cherry blossom season we will perform at the sixth graders’ graduation ceremony after they present us with rice seeds from their school project they will stand from their chairs to face us as we sing I know we will see them smile we are in harmony from the first note the thrush does not take a seat in the cherry tree outside the gym shoulder to shoulder within the group I lift my eyes to the windows singing the chorus Sakura! Sakura! as these cherry blossoms bloom… I see sparrows flit and twitter twig to twig through cherry blossom buds not ready to bloom after school I wait for Yuka not in a rush on Wednesdays we walk and chat pass shops and stop to count pigeons sitting in a bare tree, bulbuls shredding magnolias, and city workers pruning branches the trees are full today, I say Yuka giggles I giggle back we count twelve pigeons three bulbuls five city workers then cut along the path of Great-grandfather’s field past the last cabbage daikon and broccoli he’s pushing a motor tiller guiding it making a new row of crops a starling follows him picking out insects I call to him Yuka echoes me then says, he cannot hear us he doesn’t hear well anyway and he never says much either even back when I followed behind him helping him picking out weeds and planting bowls of seeds buckets of taro tubers, and trays of edamame seedlings before I got too busy with school cram school and English practice Great-grandfather has farmed full-time since age seventeen for sixty-three years each year I think will be his last his customers pass his vegetable stand with bicycle baskets packed with vegetables, toilet paper, and detergent “one-stop shopping” at the new store kills his business but still he tills, sows, and gathers each season there is always something to do he plants less, but we always have plenty to eat Grandmother pickles the excess the starling pecks the softened soil a wagtail zigs and zags and wags Great-grandfather’s fields feed them, too Yuka asks, same birds from yesterday? I don’t know same from last year? I don’t know how long they live I only know their names and their songs mainly I just love them how they appear out of nowhere like an unexpected gift how they come and go fly in and out as they please as they need over a garden wall we hear but do not see a bush warbler at the park two doves blink at us from their fence seat and greet us with coo we stop to inspect the cherry tree one branch hangs down and reaches out to us the blossom-viewing prediction for Tokyo is right, we agree, no way this tree will bloom before a new school year begins April 6 no way we will picnic under full blossoms the last days of our break, but no matter tight buds Yuka and I enjoy now together we take our time before we have to start our evening schedules today for her, abacus lessons for me, English practice see you! we say to the doves and to each other and turn Yuka left I right Grandmother is bringing in laundry at the house Great-grandfather built I stop at our gates sitting side by side the daffodils Mother planted the fall Grandfather died wait to open a breeze through their house reaches me paper, straw, wood cold and dark the house smells sunny like vegetables freshly cut or drying Grandmother always takes a break from the vegetable stand to bring in their laundry to greet me when I return and to help me while Mother works at our house doors slam the wind, says Grandmother and smiles I yell, I’m home, toward our
