Brad Leithauser(b. 1953)
In Minako Wada's House
I n old M i n a k o W a d a ' s h o u s e
E v e r y t h i n g h a s its p l a c e ,
A n d m o s t l y o u t o f sight:
B e d d i n g f o l d e d a w a y
All day, b r o u g h t d o w n
F r o m t h e s h e l f at night,
T e a t h i n g s u n d e r n e a t h
L o w tea table a n d t a b l e c l o t h —
A n d sliding s c r e e n doors,
Landscape-painted, that hide
H e r c l o t h e s i n s i d e a w a s h
O f m o u n t a i n s . H e r e , t h e floors
Are a c l e a n - f i t t i n g m o s a i c ,
M a t s of a texture like
A broom's; a n d in a n i c h e
I n t h e t e a r o o m wall
Is a shrine to all of h e r
A n c e s t o r s , b e f o r e w h i c h
S h e s e t s e a c h day
A doll-sized c u p of tea,
A doll-sized b o w l of rice.
S h e k e e p s a glass jar
Of crickets that are f e d fish
S h a v i n g s , a n e g g p l a n t slice,
A n d w h o s e h u s h e d c h o r u s ,
Like t h e d r o w s y toss
Of a baby's rattle, m o v e s in
On so tranquil a s o n g
It's s o o n no l o n g e r heard.
T h e walls are t h i n
I n M i n a k o W a d a ' s little h o u s e ,
O p e n t o every lifting v o i c e
O n t h e s t r e e t — b y day, t h e cries
Of t h e c h i l d r e n , at n i g h t
T h o s e excited, s w e e t ,
R e i t e r a t e d g o o d b y e s
O f m e n full o f b e e r w h o n o w
M u s t hurry h o m e . Just t o
W a k e i n t h e n i g h t i n s i d e this n e s t ,
Late, t h e street a s l e e p (day d o n e ,
D a y n o t yet b e g u n ) , i s w h a t
P e r h a p s s h e loves b e s t .