Shikata
ga Nai (Let It Be)
by
Hiromi Yoshida
Stoic
acceptance
--not
passive acquiescence
--not
dumb cattle herded into packed boxcars
--not
subservient Japs (as
though
truncation diminishes self-esteem)—
swallowing
the bitter spittle
of
outrage re. E.O. 9066
like
green tea without the usual
ceremony.
Heavy steps,
overstuffed
duffel bags—
all
that two arms can carry
(all
that the heart can carry)
Shikata
ga nai.
Swallow, lunge forward
gravel
crunch [toxic gaman]
tubular
chrysanthemum stems drop
overripe heads with
the weight of
apology
[mōshi
wake nai]
for being
Japanese
Americans at the wrong time (as
though
there were a right time for these porous hybrid
many-petaled
things)—
The
skies above Manzanar were sheets of motheaten kimono silk—
taut with anxiety, mottled
with unanswered questions, pinpricked with cruel stars;
The
lacquered bento
boxes
The
sake
cups
The
porcelain rice bowls
The
spoons, the chopsticks,
the
obi
sashes matchless with lost kimono pieces and the children
without
their corresponding dolls—
cucumbers and plums pickled in formaldehyde jars
Shikata
ga nai.
Bio:
Hiromi
Yoshida teaches American Literature for the award-winning VITAL
program at the Monroe County Public Library. Her poems have been
published in such literary magazines and journals as Indiana Voice
Journal, The Asian American Literary Review, Evergreen Review, and
The Rain, Party, & Disaster Society.