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Tsurumigawa
ironically, we lived along the See Crane River
it sliced through the rice fields
that were just steps from the busy road
Tokyo and Yokohama and Kawasaki
are joined like an urban Cerberus
between them, hidden bits of unexpected farmland
bent old women in worn rubber boots
knotted bandanas around their heads
slop through the wet paddies
reaching crumpled fingers into waving rice
and plucking out the o-kome
the flesh of their people
in Ichigao, our town,
the women could have walked
a mile along the river
and treated themselves
to McDonald’s french fries
or the Colonel’s secret recipe
of herbs and spices
a bloodless invasion
leaving no cloud in its wake
I don’t think we ever actually
saw a crane on the river
that bore the bird’s name
like Oak Glen or Forest Heights
the name is simply a reminder
of what’s been taken away
gold flecks in green tea
gold plastic across the street
from the train station
and the Colonel standing there
arms outstretched, smiling
beckoning the cranes to fly to him
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