All In Her Day’s Work
By Andrew Kumasaka
For The North American Post
For Sadaye Kawaguchi
My grandmother washes rice in a heavy black pot
that itself could carry a good-sized family This is her daily ritual
Hands reddened by the sting
of cold water flowing
swish the tiny starchy grains
clockwise at first — then counterclockwise
clock — then counter
around and around
for a long time
Out of the swirling depths — the white talc rises
ghosts taking flight
Long ago souls whirl about
spirits ascending from the buried past
Maybe she sees her own face now
the young Sadaye
the beautiful bride to be
startled by the bushy eyebrows
of the stranger she will someday love
Matahei
the brash suitor
daring to bring her only half a carp
The rest is waiting — he said
across the tilting bowl
of the ocean
Or is it Masanori she sees
the boy who dies in America
one year past
his birth
All this turning and twirling
the curling apparitions — afloat for the moment
hover over
the day’s next meal
After changing the water she resumes
washing with the same brisk strokes
but the talc is almost gone
Maybe her face appears older now
disturbed by the harsh stir of water
distorted by the agitation of water
anguished by the turbulence
of water
A large pot of rice for the family
and finally the churning is done
She stands without words
as she wrings out her hands
staring deeply into the sustenance
of generations
Rice soaking in a heavy black pot
cleansed by the water that pours
so easily from around her hands
the hands that work through all their chores
beneath the steady gaze of dry
unclouded eyes
Andrew Kumasaka was born in Chicago and grew up in Seattle. A psychiatrist, he retired after thirty years of private practice. His poems have appeared in various literary journals. His debut novel, “All Gone Awry,” was released in September 2021. His poem on his father is “Cheju Island, 1952” (napost.com, 2022).
Andrew and his wife live in Soquel, California. They have two grown sons.
