Terry Watada | VISIONS OF CHISATO

A black and white photo of a Japanese woman wearing glasses and a button up shirt, standing behind a Japanese man who is sitting down and wearing a long sleeved button up shirt.
Chisato and Matsujiro Watada, our backyard 1983. Photo by Steve Isozaki.

 

VISIONS OF CHISATO

the clothesline     stret-ch-es
across the length
of the     backyard

proof of father’s handiwork

and
white bedsheets shiver
in        the
near-winter
wind.

but there is the promise of
sun
light
bright, warm & life-affirming

on laundryday      every Saturday

mom stands on a
platform   built by dad
and hangs the clothes
with
homemade clothespins

to save money

but what was she thinking?
about
girlhood
in Japan     with sisters
and brothers

and handsome parents
prospering   on
rice, fish, and lumber

or was she thinking
about her life
in
Celestial Canada

where she
landed
in struggle & poverty
on a lumber raft shack
floating north
of   civilization

worried for
her baby son drowning
in
the cold blue
waters

of the Strait of Georgia

I see her dancing
among
            the white cotton
       sheets

arms led by pointed hands
curving round her body
as her legs strain
to
      gently perfect the choreography

an odori of joy
in    the cold air,
the rushing wind,
the light rain

her hair    grows wet
but
         she doesn’t care

the past is behind her
the hate is behind her
the promise of
prosperity,
shining in her sons’ eyes

the spit of race, the rush of unintelligible words,
the rough calluses of hands
grabbing, pushing,     and tightly gripping.

the rage of the mind
the tears
of alien woods
the fear of the uncertain
in the fire of the endless soul.

but she survived

only to scrape by
and live in a prairie shack    until…

I see her
lying in the grass,
her
       back to me

sitting up her arms extended
for support her hands planted
at a crooked angle
            and gazing
at a distant clothesline,
warm bedsheets flapping &
beckoning  calling
her home, a 2-storey
            sagging house,

standing on the horizon,
a
       little weather-worn
        but standing.

she is young, a loose
summer dress,
        her hair done in a bun,
I can’t see her face, but
I feel
       she is smiling.

she returns to our backyard
hanging sheets
in the winter    of
her life and home.

a vision
of Chisato
soon fades into
a world empty of her

and I am left with the snapping
of laundry   in the stiffening

wind,

but there remains
an aroma of fresh, clean
and inviting bedsheets.   the
aroma
of a ghost.

 

 

Note: ‘Odori’ is a ‘folk dance’


Terry Watada is a well-published writer living in Toronto. He has five poetry collections, three novels and a short story collection in print. His latest publications include The Four Sufferings, poetry (Mawenzi House, Toronto ON 2020) and Mysterious Dreams of the Dead novel (Anvil Press, Vancouver BC 2020).