In a life filled with so many memories
that I’ve had to delete many to save space,
I long ago decided to keep the cucumbers.
You know the ones I mean.
We’d get off the train at Ichigao Station,
walk past the outstretched arms of Colonel Sanders
and enter the grocery store.
Near the exit doors on the far
side of the store stood the smiling man.
I remember him having graying hair
that was a little long for a Japanese man his age.
He wore an apron, and he sold his
cucumbers in clear plastic bags.
The cukes were long and thin.
They snapped when you bit into them,
and the water inside tasted like mountains.
We’d eat them on the bus on the way to our apartment,
sometimes finishing the whole bag on the short ride.
I’ve never tasted cucumbers like those since.
I hold onto them and refuse to let go.
/ / /
4 May 2022