o sakeji, i miss you
your marching path, your river,
the plates, worn smooth by thousands of forks
by generations of forks
by dishes of sunday ice-cream.
i miss your hundred verses, your ricecakes,
your legendary maps and basketball court,
your pool, your river, your dust.
i miss your birthday chairs and mealtime prayers
your tea - your half-term - your dusk
and homesick longing.
o sakeji. i miss you.