Homes that have held me
made me dream, and left me,
worlds that birth me –
Before I got the chance to ask,
can I stay a little longer?
open – dispersed
There is no place to stay.
One last time
in the sakura forest a hundred times my height,
in garden beds, buried between both my parents bodies,
by a fire in the backyard under the yellowing gingko fans,
to be lifted, once more, on otousan’s shoulders,
to play airplane, and dream safety in their arms,
Can I stay a little longer?
In our home,
There’s no such home to stay.
But one last time,
can we embroider dresses for Haru Matsuri
with warm sukiyaki and weaves held on from home,
can I swaddle myself in your stories and close my eyes in your voice,
Can we write songs drowned in a river,
and share a harvest of fall fruits?
Can we stay?
before I got the chance to ask.
Revisited in cemeteries as gravestones,
brought to life, for moments, with flowers and thoughts,
carried around like the burden of a grandparents ashes,
if I pour them on the road, will the river come back to life?
Daisy Kioko Moriyama is a third generation Japanese Canadian, currently studying English and Philosophy at Ryerson University in Toronto.