Orchards (4 page)

I don’t care

groups don’t matter

so much to me now

maybe because I know

most atoms

aren’t as stable

as they seem

every day

I watch the clock

wait for the bell

when I can be excused

mount my bike

and cycle “home”

to drink cold tea

          snack in secret

                 sneak a listen

and join Koichi in the truck

blasting the radio

as we drive up

narrow tracks of steep road

high up into the groves

to work through rows of trees

thinning unneeded fruit

hours of

snapping off

and dropping fruit

snapping off

and dropping fruit

talking through branches and leaves

and

during talk

and

in between talk

thinking of you

till the five o’clock chimes

thinking

should I have said something when I saw you at the mall?

should I have sat across from you at lunch in the cafeteria?

should I have invited you to be in my group in science

or my critique partner in art?

thinking

should I have

when it seemed

by the way you

held yourself apart

that you didn’t care?

when it seemed

that you didn’t want me

or anyone else

to go out of our way

to have anything to do

with you?

Except

          that is

for Jake

my legs ache

from squatting down for low branches

my arms ache

from reaching up

some days I want to chuck

the fruit

kick the rot

I don’t know why my parents thought

this would be good

how they could think

it would be right

to go away

be far away

          from Emi

          from friends

          from home

but my mother

and most of Kohama

seem to agree

the solution to

any kind of problem

of any magnitude

is physical labor

sore muscles

blisters

WORK

I
n the evenings

before she sleeps, Yurie

lets me use her computer—

laptop on a low table,

zabuton
cushion for a seat

but my evening

is early morning east coast U. S.

and no one is online at six a.m.

or seven

or even eight

except Emi

so I post on Facebook

chat with Emi

send emails to my parents

group messages to friends

my legs numb from kneeling on the cushion

as I type

and gradually we electrons

of that old atom

          connect

          regroup

          charge

          bond

a little

but it’s different now

our words show restraint

we’re polite

not sarcastic

considerate

not rude

we ask questions

read replies

add follow-up questions

we are caring

concerned

not ourselves

as before

as though

we’re dressed up

in oversized adult clothing

Lisa, nearly not a nucleus anymore

hardly writes

homework
she says

a whole summer’s worth

Becca is full of Jesus

and theories of why

what happened happened

Mona jokes in half français

writes things like

the moose is king de nos forêts

the moose has une grosse tête

the male moose has un immense panache

but where before

we would have joked back

and before would have gotten mileage

from those moose

and before those moose would have turned

to secret slang between us

now we can’t find

humor in a moose with a
grosse tête

and an immense
panache

Emily hates stocking shelves

says next year she’ll lifeguard

Gina writes

and writes

poems I don’t get

even when she uses

words I do get

Erin sends algebra messages

2(day) + 2(morrow) x 3(rude + x)roommates = insanity

solve for x

but only Namita sends

return equations

I tell them about the district middle school—

my uniform

kids I don’t really know

outcast girl who didn’t want my help

classes I don’t really understand

paper fans we flap in the way too hot classroom …

I gripe, but only a little

all of us complain

only a little

I think we will always complain

only a little

anything more

seeming like

drama

after what happened

to you

E
ach night here

I’m third in the bath

after Uncle and Koichi—

Baachan’s orders

hot as it is in early July

I don’t want a bath

just a shower

and besides

it’s hard to think of climbing in the tub

after Koichi and Uncle have been in

even though they scrub clean outside the tub

just the thought of them naked in that same water …

well

first week I shower wash

then second week

sore from cycling to and from school

sore from afternoons of
mikan
thinning

I give in

          slip in

                 soak in

water my uncle and cousin

                        soaked in

water Baachan, Aunt and Yurie will

                               soak in

heated from below

with a fire made of wood

pruned from
mikan
trees

in groves my great-grandfather began

this rectangular tub

in the bathing room off the kitchen

being the same tub

my mother soaked in

and must have

thought in

          read in

                 sulked in

                        cried in

at my age

before she knew just how far

her life would propel her

from here

afternoons

in the groves

we thin and thin

slope after slope

terrace after terrace

row after row of
mikan
trees

the dirt littered

with small green fruits

now and then

I lob one at

Koichi when

Aunt and Uncle can’t see

and now and then I get

ponged on the head

or shoulder

or pelted on

my wide target

of a butt

in the truck one day Koichi says

that until I arrived

he never thought of
mikan

as
tobidogu
—projectile weapons

I laugh

and tell him

I’m just testing

Newton’s laws

the force of gravity

on horizontal velocity

some days we cut grasses

that grow fast after rains

then spread the cuttings

to control weeds—

Aunt and me with scythes

Koichi and Uncle with gas-powered

trimmers

that seem to sound even when

the motors

are off

when the noise finally fades

crows jabber

leaves rustle

cicadas whine

and hawks whistle above

us four

perched high

on mountain grove land

far above village houses

crowded at the river mouth

and fishing boats motoring

up the bay

and opposite

foothills rise

to the long volcanic slant

of Mount Fuji

that peak we see

          jutting

right through cloud

some days

and I think

if I knew you, Ruth,

and you knew me

like if this were last year

and I were here

and we were friends

and I were writing

to you

I’d tell you about that

mountaintop

          jutting

and the way the gray-blue of it

materializes from the haze

just before day becomes dusk

when the smell

of smoke

from wood fires

for all the baths

fills the air

W
henever they spray

pesticide or herbicide

or whatever it is

I’m told to stay below

to help Baachan

garden in vegetable plots

that lie across the stream

that divides the village

we stop at houses to offer greetings

to second cousins

third cousins

great-uncles

great-aunts

who compare me to my mother

speak highly of my mother

but rarely mention

my father

they serve us chilled barley tea

and a sweet

to sustain us before we

duck out into the sun

to weed