I look at the cold floor. 
Tap my loafer on top. 
It holds.
I slide to the middle 
and laugh. A horse 
made of fog runs 
out of my face.
The ice is the kind you find 
in Antarctica. We walk back.
Satoru and I take turns standing 
next to the potbelly stove.
I flip through a Sears catalog— 
look for ice skates. I want to slice 
the frozen water. I want to glide 
so fast I become snow.
I want to glide so fast 
I open a portal
to the future.
The war has ended.
I open a portal 
and see dad.
His handcuffs
become a butterfly 
he rests
on his finger.
Wind chills my cheeks.
I look up
and at the door,
a guard. His nightly headcount. 
His eyes, a pair of searchlights 
burning
against our faces.

Our Piano, Missing

It’s in a warehouse.	Lost.

      Guarded by tigers or a moat 

of piranhas. I don’t know.

      We couldn’t lug it to camp.

It weighed as much

      as a small sky. 

At night, I still hear it.

      The sound of a wedding,

a tangerine peeled in glorious heat.

      This country can’t make me 

forget. Every song

      has a memory.

I lay in an army cot

      and smell a tuxedo.

I press an F chord into my thigh.

      Hum the note.

Of Neighbors in Camp

The grown-ups on our block look for their ghost lawnmowers, 

but I’ve known you, Fusae, since before the war

Before I saw your wet hair freeze in January air, stepping out of the shower 

Your mother’s voice sounds like bees through barrack walls

I’m glad you’re here

We sit by the fence under a glint of moonlight, 

bury the last of our baby teeth

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