AMERICAN HIBAKUSHA
—for Carolyn Forché
Hibakusha is the name the survivors of Hiroshima gave to themselves.
I. The violin's slow scale
climbs above the beat
of the metronome,
patterning mountains of notes,
increasing in tempo.
II. A child under the alders
stares at the liquid leaves
that hide small cones—
brown, like river debris.
III. A sonic pitch
loosens the violin's strings.
The bow falls slack
and the hand falls silent.
IV. A pulse of light quickens the sky
The leaves, robbed of their color
sizzle into premature fall.
Ashes. Burnt decay.
V. The acrid odor of hair
distracts the woman playing the violin.
Glancing at the mirror,
she watches fascinated,
as the mirror slumps off the wall.
VI. Vast ridges of light.
No color anywhere—
only a drenched landscape
of saturated light
brushed by fingers of white noise.
9/1/83 published in nuke notes, Sonoma, county, direct action, coalition, 2/1984, vol. 4, no.6
added 10/16
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