Puzzles by Dean Okamura

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Puzzles:

a libretto

 

 

 

 

Dean Okamura

 

 

it's hard to admit this exile feels
more like fallen towers
than castles in the sky

 

 

"Hope is often misunderstood. People tend to think that it is simply passive, like wishing. But true hope is active, and it requires action and engagement."
— Jane Goodall, The Book of Hope (2021)

 

"I can see, and that is why I can be happy, in what you call the dark, but which to me is golden. I can see a God-made world, not a manmade world. ... But to those who have eyes and cannot see, the world is a place of dread."
— Helen Keller, The Story of My Life (1903), The World I Live In (1908)

 

some say each of us dies alone
while others have few friends
the hours spent in solitary rooms
no need to leave for commitments
once busy schedule of activities
now wondering where energy has gone
it's a puzzle how I got here
finding no community of faith
or common interests to share
every night dreams of disjointed scenes
forgotten faces invade my space

it's hard to admit this exile feels
more like fallen towers
than castles in the sky

 

by Dean Okamura, born June 17, 1953, Los Angeles, California, United States of America

 

 

I feel less American
than
when
I was born.

 

I thought I was
one
of
"Our Gang",

 

another kid like
"Leave
it
to Beaver".

 

I still hear stories where
people who look like me are told
to go back to where
we came from.

 

I came from Los Angeles, but
they tell me to go back to where
I "really" came from: "China!"

Then someone says, that
I am Japanese, he says,
"Japs have more slanty eyes".

 

The ICE agent says a lot of
Mexican Indians look like me.
Next time, I need to carry

my American passport, too.

 

 

I'll hug your haiku
will you hug mine ? without a
kigo — is that fine?

 

a bell rings
to join the little child
and play

 

family of three
a halo on a cold fall day
safety zone

 

(*) kigo: a formal haiku season word

 

 

insult & provoke
to tear down your opponents
winning the room

 

smirk & look smug
go high when they go meaner
gracing the room

 

divided & dis-
appointed in useless po-
liticians

 

as Tylenol
causes autism; now they claim that free stuff
grows homelessness

 

USAID
cut; FEMA cut; charity
is next

 

    homeless don't vote
    they are indigenous terrorists
    we're bombing their tents

 

 

          with apologies to Grant Wood,
          "American Gothic" (1930)

 

choosing politics
o'er Prince of Peace / God of Love
they win

 

it's sad how much
Christian teaching became
Nationalism

 

Christ
my heart in
pieces

 

the law is not blind
when the highest court rules
4 his pleasure

 

4 his pleasure
4 his retribution and greed
4 his highness

 

we thought his reign
lasts for 4 years, but find him
an emergency

 

    sushi is cool
    but get me a hamburger
    said America

 

 

making me
a curiosity in a small wrapper
no beef

 

my whole life
reduced to good at Math
invisible

 

red meat Americans
don't listen to us, don't see us lean into silence
don't know red meat smells

 

          Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent?
          Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?
          — Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel

 

I pilgrimage
to sense war detention, but see
just my reflections

 

my family
once enemy aliens, never spoke
of those days

 

wind in the oaks
my grandfather's name
still not spoken

 

 

...

 

when leaders say sorry
but keep an enemies list
we dread the knock …

 

… in the night

 

 

At my age…

 

my Bachan (*)
sat and treated knees with
mustard plaster

 

the smell of
the patches filled the house
as she relaxed

 

now a similar
smell fills my hotel room
we sit together

 

… as grandparents for a moment

 

 

 

(*) Bachan Japanese grandmother

 

 

I lack … the heart …
what truly makes genealogy come
alive

 

mine … mainly …
facts, dates, places, documents, and names
of strangers

 

no … stories …
to populate the family tree — only empty
urns

 

 

Image after René Magritte, Golconda (1953)

 

There is an intimacy with pain.

 

It takes hold, but
you can't grab it,
push it as

Pain is the unwanted guest
that won't leave
unless it's willing.

 

It seems to be patient,
unfazed by complaint,
ready to reassert itself.

 

I'm like a moth drawn to flame,
staring into pain –
get too close – lose myself.

 

Such a strange friend,
twists a rope around my head.
I scream, but no one hears.

 

Just me and pain.
We have this dance.
Tango – tango – tango.

 

 

seventy years of
dandruff, even my eyebrows
shed flakes

 

some problems
resist and resist treatment
of medicine

 

deep within
the anxious poet finds strength
to brush away flakes

 

it's time to move
the bed wished me well — Godspeed
safe journeys

 

sometimes in life
the longest hardest bridge to cross
lies between my ears

 

walking with a cane
as if hand-in-hand with momma
step softly, love

 

I do not pretend to understand
the purpose of my trials,
the lesson in the labored step,
agonizing stiff muscles
or unsteadiness of age.

 

It's my first passage of frailty
which youthful memories banished
without thought or care,
the grimness of death dismissed.

 

I'm parked in the field,
exposed to the elements
without protection
from raging storms of decline,
dementia and that other d-word
I cannot recall.

 

It's taken a lifetime
to see uncertainty as a friend
who gives bad advice
but understands me better
than my parents,
loss, regret, or my
closest relations.

 

I reach for that hand
that exists for times like these
but often
is not there.

 

 

from this bed
like so many other times finding strength
for today

 

face this world
that bullies us to intimidate
our freedom

 

always have
but overcoming pain, dread, aging; time for
a surprise?

… the natives are restless

 

 

All things hold together

 

Some find dignity
even those suffering from poor health
they find ways to cope
without being dragged around by loved ones

 

The old man
like the little boy
wants to do it himself
but no one teaches him

 

 

So he improvises
uses the utensils at hand
sitting where he can
standing when he must

 

His family, not waiting, walks ahead
he could have stayed home but catches up
he can be helpless as a baby
but he doesn't cry

 

Meanwhile they deflect the bitter curse of malady.
They pass endurance into weary strength.
The complaints of adulthood disappeared.
When their agency diminished.

 

The room rumbles with chatter
such a contrast to the elderly confines called home
being out of place in the world they helped create
looking out at the quiet breeze and cloudy skies

 

They recognized that the power of adulthood
is just a deceptive, marketing illusion
we are all stumbling children
held by the hand of God

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

… in him all things hold together

— Colossians 1:17

 

You don't have to believe in God
But let's bless whatever holds you together
When you suffer in this life
May we all find peace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the cat
gave me some advice to follow
in "meow"

 

"meow"
she said, begging for kitty
treats

 

it doesn't
always result in yumminess, but we need
to cry …