published in Eucalypt: Mariko Kitakubo

Mariko Kitakubo Profile

Mariko Kitakubo

Born in Tokyo.
Living in Mitaka-city, Tokyo
Japan Writers' Association,
Japan PEN Club,
Association of Contemporary Tanka Poets,
Japan Tanka Poets' Society,
Tanka Online Project,
Tanka Society of America.

Contemprary Tanka Poet Mariko Kitakubo. Eucalypt.

My Tanka published in Eucalypt.

pure indigo
settles into my heart,
when I cross borders...
I would like to die
a wanderer of this earth

I can believe
in destiny --
spring rain reads
my outstretched palm

(ひと滴の雨にうるめる運命を信じてもみむ 春のてのひら)

this havest moon
sails beyond time and space...
there is no border
between life and death
for those I have truly loved

the days
of the end of my life
will come --
a cat is yawning
in the ruined village g

a herd
of majesty
is coming...
in the heat haze
elephants and their young

I planted
a tender sapling
in another land...
this Christmas Bush will flourish
long after I am gone

rain drops
of the constellation,
a water clock
sounding beyond
an avenue of cedars

how silent
the light rain
of radiation--
we continue searching
for his parents' bodies

Issue 10,2011

moonlit night
in the bamboo forest
child god
transforms into a badger
to summon his mother

Issue 11, 2011

after the bitterness
against my late father
a longing
comes to me--
sorrowful pendulum

over the battlefield
the moon is waning
little by little
I decay and
I lose myself too

I watch
a drop of poison
turn transparent
look to the half moon,
where my mother now lives

the shadow of moth
growing larger--
after an embrace
difficult to resist

I balance
loneliness with
the sky so blue
this Vernal Equinox Day

five years now
since I sat there
with mother
supping on noodles
flavered with citron

the sea canyon
is silently weeping
as I cross
concealing my sickness
within me

sometimes I wish for
shoulders to lean against--
there's a bitter wind
like the delivery of letters
after my death

maybe it's better
not to know the depth
of her wounds---
tranquilly I ask

how many sugar lumps?

how small
I really am
here between
potato field

and the wide sky

we won't know
if it's benign
till we operate---
I'm nodding as if
this isn't about me




even rainy days
at the beach
aren’t bad,
I whisper in the ear
of the jet-black Labrador

the sounds
of a cat grooming itself
in Tunisia
all the cobble-stones
are on fire with sunset




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