Inheritance
by wanda fujimoto
my grandmother died
before I had a face
she reclaims me now with silence
and a brown photograph:
her kimono, hair, face,
the instep of her turned-in foot
I have no stock in this place
the woman in the picture is
the sole estate of my inheritance
her immigrant's name and face,
her incomplete passage
blood
there are no islands in its red surge
where the ground wires should be
is only a space the color of sleep
if you look long enough into my left eye
you will see my grandmother there
sitting with tabied feet
and hands of silence
sitting in constant passage
* * * * *
Bio: wanda fujimoto said she knew “nothing about fishing and [was] all 'chicken skin' to have been included in a magazine edited by experts in the field.” She mentioned that she'd “recently ended voluntary imprisonment at the U.H.” and hoped “to flee to Europe in August with her M.A. in English as a Second Language before the wardens discover[ed] her escape.”
This was wanda's first publication — “Not counting the Junior Star Bulletin when she was five.” Eric and Darrell said back then, “When you leave her poems, lines linger in your mind.”
Mahalo for reading!