I am trying to love this place,
this country, the way I used to,
but it is dark as creosote, useless
as a plastic bag stuck in a tree,
and everything I don’t need.
I am waiting for it to wake up,
to recall one cloudless September day
when we knew each other so well.
Now the cherry trees are dead
and the people’s house is rubble,
we are in an endless game of dodgeball,
trying to sidestep every atrocity
before it hits us in the face, full-
force, leaving a bruise of despair.










