Letter to Japan

You, who receive, show us the way to acceptance,

 a crumbled home. You, who stay the course

at the broken containers of fear,

guide us in our footsteps

through the debris of our greed.

You, who contain the downfall

of our gain, comfort us

as we count the scattered cars

among land-bound ships,

family albums, the uselessness

of money, fame, collecting.

You give to your neighbor

some of the water you have left

as you watch this minister

or that tell you nothing is wrong.

You rejoice as a family

when an old man

who floats to sea on the roof

of his house, his wife swept away,

is found. I am to console you?

Here, we have a potter who makes Japan

in clay and glaze. On a plate,

the Emperor’s kimono, that stylized shape

we all recognize. Today,

I stopped by his case in a gallery.

Four monks, parasols in hand,

walk through the rain. On another bowl,

the simplicity of shoes, easy

to slip off before the formal bow

to all that is.

I bow to you, to the home

you carry in your heart.

Bless the fifty who have stayed

in the radiance of destruction,

and the thousands of souls

who have gone on.

Photograph by Luna Zeffer