Tonight's Poet Corner: Sweet Shizuru
Sweet Shizuru
by Belinda Roddie
Sweet Shizuru,
pick me up at the train station
at eleven PM, and when you
drive me back home, we'll
play Floyd so loud that all
the pretentiousness in the lyrics
would evaporate and came back
down as sad rain. My darling,
read your poetry to me again:
The sonnets, the words fluid
marrow inside the rigid skeleton.
I'll eat up each line like slurping
long, golden strands of spaghetti,
and you'll stroke the shorn, tufted
locks on my head where long, golden
strands of my own used to grow.
Sentimental Shizuru,
I know you cry a lot on Sundays.
I know the mornings remind you
of your grandpa back in Yokohama, when
he walked you past the cherry blossom
trees and drank tea with you in the
backyard where you could watch the sunset.
But that was years ago, and now I cradle
you in my arms as sturdily as any branches
could. It's all the strength I have.
I hope it's enough.
by Belinda Roddie
Sweet Shizuru,
pick me up at the train station
at eleven PM, and when you
drive me back home, we'll
play Floyd so loud that all
the pretentiousness in the lyrics
would evaporate and came back
down as sad rain. My darling,
read your poetry to me again:
The sonnets, the words fluid
marrow inside the rigid skeleton.
I'll eat up each line like slurping
long, golden strands of spaghetti,
and you'll stroke the shorn, tufted
locks on my head where long, golden
strands of my own used to grow.
Sentimental Shizuru,
I know you cry a lot on Sundays.
I know the mornings remind you
of your grandpa back in Yokohama, when
he walked you past the cherry blossom
trees and drank tea with you in the
backyard where you could watch the sunset.
But that was years ago, and now I cradle
you in my arms as sturdily as any branches
could. It's all the strength I have.
I hope it's enough.
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